Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 91622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“It’s okay, don’t look,” Jag whispered, stroking Dane’s nape.
“And you,” the prez spoke, “Hey, I’m talking to you.”
Jag growled so deeply it sent vibrations against Dane’s face. “He can hear you.”
“He’s an adult man, Jag, don’t coddle him,” Frank uttered in response, shaming Dane into looking up.
He tried not to see what was left of Rob, but his gaze still licked the sludge splattered over the executioner’s boots. He swallowed down the sudden nausea and met the biker president’s gaze. “Y-yes?”
“Your name’s Dane Whitaker. We know where you live. We also know where your family lives, is that clear?”
“Y-yes,” Dane said, trying to focus on just this one face in hope he’d get to retreat to the den soon, and stay there in hiding, under Jag’s protection, but it wasn’t bound to happen.
“I hear you’ve made a good job of the hack. And that you’re decent with computers. I’m willing to leave you in peace if you help us out once in a while,” the prez said, and it was only then that Dane noticed a couple of red stains on the bastard’s pants.
Nausea crawled back up Dane’s gullet, but he gave a quick nod, because if that was it, then he was getting off the hook with a slap on the wrist. The executioner’s massive form loomed at the edge of his vision, but Dane refused to acknowledge him while the biker admired his abstract art made in blood, bone, and brains.
Jag stepped forward, obscuring the body. “Let’s go clean you up,” he said, as if he weren’t the injured one.
Frank nodded and waved his hand in a fast motion suggesting he needed them to disappear. “We’ll handle this.”
Dane felt as if he weren’t getting enough air, but he summoned the courage to speak nevertheless. “Um… it’s been good to work with you,” he said before mentally scolding himself in embarrassment, but the bikers were too excited by the blood offering to whatever gods they worshiped to notice his humiliation. Demon Brethren MC indeed.
Jag had his arm around Dane’s waist when they walked off, as if he could sense that Dane’s knees were Jell-O. They left behind the conversations, and Dane welcomed the silence of the night around them after the dramatic events of the last hour.
“It’s over, Dane.”
A soft sigh escaped his mouth, and he glanced into Jag’s eyes, still so overwhelmed he didn’t feel like himself. “I… is it?” he uttered, but his thoughts cleared when he took note of the blood on Jag’s face. “You’re hurt.”
Jag gave him a gentle smile. “It’s fine. The arm might need a few stitches,” he said as if it wasn’t something that could stop him from holding the weight of the world on his shoulders.
That was so like him. He’d protect Dane on his dying breath.
“Yeah, but… it happened because of me,” Dane whispered, grabbing Jag’s wrist tenderly.
His man didn’t argue, just turned his face and captured Dane’s lips. The desolate landscape of rust and discarded metal that used to be so alien and scary only a month ago now felt like home.
“I’d walk through fire for you. That’s my choice to make.”
Dane’s heart drummed in a frantic rhythm as he pulled his lover close, breathing freely at last.
They were safe.
And he’d found his beast.
“I love you.”
Jag’s strong embrace was everything he could ever dream of, and when Dane smelled Jag’s hair, the aroma of shampoo and sweat let him forget tonight’s bloodshed.
“I love you too. You saved my life tonight, I’ll never forget that.”
Dane chuckled, drunk on his relief. “Hey, you saved mine first. I’d call it even,” he whispered and pressed his lips to Jag’s.
Jag smiled. “I accept that. A new beginning.”
Epilogue – Dane
“So that house, will it be warm enough in winter?” Dad asked from the passenger seat as Dane drove through the woods, looking in the rear view mirror every now and again to make sure Mark and the girls hadn't gotten lost and still followed him in the blue Ford.
“Yes, Shane and Frank helped us add insulation to the walls,” Dane answered, increasingly nervous. This would be the first time his family had visited him and Jag in the junkyard, and he worried they might not approve of a home built out of disused shipping containers and decorated in Jag’s signature style. But Mom smiled at him from the back seat.
“As long as it works for you two. Feels good to have your own place, doesn’t it? I still remember that tiny apartment we lived in before we married.”
Dad grinned. “It had this awkward entrance through the backyard. Our mail kept being delivered to our neighbors.”
“Some of ours might still end up at Frank’s, but Jag made a mailbox and put it in front of the fence, so maybe we’ll be lucky.” Dane smiled at the memory of explaining to Jag why they’d even need one. Once it had sunk in, Jag took the task of making sure there was a mailbox at their property very seriously and made one out of a discarded microwave. He’d painted it hot pink so it was highly visible, and adorned with his favorite decorative element—pieces of broken CDs. It was also super-gay, but Dane didn’t bother explaining that to his lovely caveman.