Gash (The Skulls #13)(9)

By: Sam Crescent



Gash rolled over and stared at her back. Her wet hair trailed down her back, and he reached out to stroke her hair.

“Do you have a death wish?”

“I’m touching the hair on my pillow. I’m not invading your space.”

She was so tense, and Gash settled down on the pillow, suddenly interested in what she’d been doing with her life. “What has happened to you the past seven years?” he asked.

“Why?”

“I’m curious. You know I was in prison, and then I was with the club. What have you been doing?”

“Nothing. Living life.”

“And there’s no boyfriend?”

“None,” she said.

“How long has it been since you were with someone?” he asked.

“None of your business. Gash, we’re not friends.”

“We’re not enemies.”

“Yes, we are. I don’t make a habit of being nice to men who grab me around the throat as a way of a hello.”

He may have been a little drastic with his introduction.

Seven years he’d waited to see her again.

Not once had she tried to see him, not even to visit him in prison. Gash had always waited to see if she would turn up. They hadn’t been total BFFs, but he’d always thought they had some kind of connection.

Watching her back, he waited as she grew soft, and slowly gave into sleep. When she was completely asleep, he thought about the couples at the clubhouse. Lash and Angel were a force to be reckoned with. The love between them was strong, and Gash had witnessed what true love really was. He’d always thought it was a fantasy, but being released from prison, he’d seen his Skull brothers falling, or having fallen in love. The club was still tough, and the men were not the kind to be messed with. Gash had felt out of place. He was filled with anger and a need to kill. The brothers, they needed him to be the better man, to be the man he’d been before he’d been incarcerated. That man was dead.

Sliding across the bed, he moved his hand beneath her head, and molded against her back. He gripped her hip, and breathed in her scent.

Home.

This felt like heaven to him, pure heaven, and for a change, he didn’t feel like leaving this moment.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to finally relax, and fall into sleep.

****

Lash stared up at the clubhouse, wondering what he was going to do. Devil had been in touch, and Master had threatened the Chaos Bleeds women. His first instinct was to open his home, and to allow the man to send them to The Skulls. He liked Devil, and it had upset him when the two clubs had fought, separating. They had survived many enemies by working together. Tiny had screwed that up with fear, and it was the one time in Gash’s life where he didn’t agree with his then-Prez.

The club, it was busier than ever. They had some of their nomad men staying with them, Adam, Twisted, and Happy. Fighter, Baker, and Ink were now full-fledged members. That had been one of the biggest decisions he ever made for the club. Initiating three new members, he had to be sure that they were loyal to the club, and wouldn’t put anyone else before them.

“Son, you should be in the club, cuddled up against your wife,” Tiny said.

“This coming from the man who has a new baby at home.”

“Something told me you needed to talk.” Tiny shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed. “It’s cold out.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“You’re doing good, Lash.”

“If my father was here, I wouldn’t be doing this right now.”

“Lash, your father and mother died for this club. I took you and Nash in because it was a bad decision on my part that got them killed. They loved the club.” Tiny chuckled. “Your mother, she was a firecracker. She loved the club, but she also wanted your father to know that you boys were going to have a choice. They would fight, but I swear it only made them both mad for each other. It’s why your mother called you Nigel and your brother Edward.”

Lash remembered his parents, or at least small memories of happiness. He didn’t like being called Nigel. Even Angel didn’t call him that. He fucking hated the name. What kind of biker was named … Nigel? He recalled his parents, the few things that he’d not forgotten. His mother loved baking, and his father loved building shit. God, it seemed like a lifetime ago since he thought about them.

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