“She went somewhere with Tracker and Arrow,” he replies. “Said they’ll be back in the evening.”
Okaaaaay then.
My rage fuels. They’re all just going out for a fun day or something?
“Did they say where they went?”
Rake studies me, a little too intently for my liking. “They had some club shit to take care of.”
“Then why is Anna with them?” I ask. Rake shrugs, focusing all too hard on his pizza.
Feeling frustrated and confused, I nod my head and pretend like everything is fine. I must have failed, because Rake walks past me and kisses my cheek. “It’s fine, Lana.”
“I don’t even know what’s going on,” I grumble.
He grins. “You know your man. You know Anna. Trust them. Maybe you should have answered your phone last night. Tracker was raging.”
I cringe. He’s right, I should have.
Rake chuckles. “He was fuckin’ pacing up and down. Never seen him like that before.”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I ask, annoyed.
His lips twitch. “Nope. Tracker asked me to stay here and keep an eye on you and Clover.”
I eye him warily. “Why do I have to have an eye kept on me?”
“Well, you just got the shit beat out of you, so it’s probably a good idea,” he says bluntly. I say nothing but figure he’s right.
He shrugs and grabs another slice of pizza from the fridge. “Want some?”
“No, thanks,” I say. “I hate cold pizza.”
He mumbles something about me being high-maintenance, then looks up at me. “You should make some waffles.”
“I will if you tell me some information.”
“Blackmail?” he asks, brows rising. “You’ve been around us too long, Lana. We’ve corrupted you.”
“Rake—”
“Tracker is my brother, Lana,” he says quietly. “Anything to do with anything, you have to hear it from him, not me, you know? Don’t put me in the middle.”
He’s right.
I sigh. “Okay. I’ll make you waffles.”
“Thank you.” He grins. “I’ll go watch TV with Clover. I’ve gotten her to like all the cool cartoons now, like Transformers.”
I’ve finished cooking when Irish walks in. I notice his knuckles are busted up and look extremely painful.
“Irish, what happened?” I ask, gasping.
He gives me a look that says I should know better than to ask but then grumbles, “You should see the other guy.”
“I can imagine,” I reply dryly. “Stay here, I’m going to get the first-aid kit.”
“Not necessary, Lana,” he replies in his sexy accented voice. “It’s just a scratch.”
Scratch, my ass.
“Well, then you won’t mind if I get the first-aid kit and put some antiseptic on it,” I say. “Then you can have some waffles.”
“Fuckin’ hell,” he grumbles. “Fine. Fuss over me and waste your time.”
Taking that as a yes, I run to the bathroom and get the kit, then come back and apply some lotion on his knuckles so they won’t get infected.
“There,” I say, feeling proud. “Now you can eat.”
I look up to see Rake staring at me, leaning against the doorframe, one arm raised.
“Love the man, love the club,” he says, eyes soft and gentle on me.
So much meaning in those six words.
I do love Tracker.
And I do love the men in his club, because they are a part of him.
His family.
And now mine. The club is my family. The MC lifestyle is for me, because they’re a part of it. I’ll do anything for my family.
And whatever Tracker’s up to right now, I’ll deal with it.
After I kick his ass for saying another woman’s name.
* * *
It’s evening by the time they return. I’m reading in Tracker’s bed, waiting for him, when the bedroom door finally opens. I’m determined. It feels so good to know what I want, to know that Tracker is all I want.
“Lana,” he says. “You’re here. Thank fuck.”
Sliding next to me on the bed, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me.
“Where were you today?” I ask as he tries to distract me by kissing my neck.
“Lana, can we fuck, then talk? You ran out on me yesterday and I’m not fuckin’ happy about it, but right now I just need to be inside of you.”
Something about the anxious look in his eyes has me nodding.
He blows out a breath, relieved, then continues to kiss his way down to my breasts, pulling my top up. I’m not wearing a bra. He gets rid of my shorts and panties next, then slides into me without warning.
“Fuck yes,” he grits out, mouth returning to mine with frantic kisses; his thrusts becoming harder, faster, more desperate. My hips rise to meet his, my arms wrapping around his back, my nails digging into his shoulder blades. The way he fits me so perfectly kind of pisses me off in this moment, because I know after this, I’m going to start a fight.
SIXTEEN
HE slides out of me and rests his forehead against mine. “We need to talk.”
“Yes, we do,” I agree, my tone angry.
He lifts his head, eyes narrowing. “What are you so angry about?”
I clench my teeth. “How long do you have?”
“Lana—”