29. Ash

Chapter Twenty-Nine

ASH

W hen I had gotten out of the shower and found the bed empty, it had taken all my tattered courage to step out of the bedroom alone and into the clubhouse to search for my lost lamb. What I had not expected was heading outside into the car park and finding the recreation of the wall of China. Except, instead of bricks, it was large, muscled men; and inside, through a brief glance, I saw no one other than the man himself.

Lamb was half-naked, covered in sweat, fist-fighting another man.

I didn’t even know Lamb could fight. I had seen him fire a gun, but going hand to hand in a contest of strength wasn’t something I could have pictured mentally.

“This again?” One of the club girls shook her head, her long, dangling earring jingling. She tossed her wavey hair over the tiny bra barely covering her nipples, the twilight of winter unable to touch her dark-tanned body.

I pulled my jacket tighter around my neck.

“It’s hot, though,” the other purred, her feet happy tapping in the ten-inch platform heels. I stared down at them, impressed at her agility on the stilts.

I had not interacted much with the girls who hung around the club during my stay. Their faces had passed as blurs, neither of us having any reason to interact with each other. After the attack and during my recovery, they had been scarce on club grounds.

“ Georgia. ” The girl in the tiny bra turned to her, a disapproving frown on her face. “Those two both have old ladies now; no point in getting hot and bothered unless you want Anna to throw you down. Again. ”

Georgia rolled her eyes. “Just ’cos I can’t touch, don’t mean I can’t look.”

Bra Girl gave her a dismissive eye roll, but a small smile pulled on her full pouty lips.

I did not risk wedging myself through the tight circle; the wide bodies were a mountain for someone of my stature. I also had no standing or confidence to throw around like other ladies in the club to clear myself a path.

Instead, I pushed my glasses up my nose, peering around until I spotted the wooden picnic bench pushed up to one side, not too far from the commotion.

I clambered onto the table, the vantage point earning me a clear view above the three dozen heads.

My jaw gaped.

Of all the people I had expected Lamb to be fighting with, I had never guessed Wolf. He was an enormous mountain of a man; Lamb withered to the size of a twig next to him.

Silvery hair was pulled back behind his thick head, though much of it had already slipped loose, hanging around his sharp, square face, the ends brushing the salt and pepper beard growing thick and bushy over his jaw. He was also a victim of the shirt shortage, his chest and arms covered in a dense layer of dark hair, covering an impressive set of tight, bulging muscles. A mix of faded and new tattoos painted his skin in an elaborate display, but he was too far for me to make any of them out.

Lamb, on the other hand, stuck out like a sore thumb. I had seen him naked countless times, but something about this hit me differently. Compared to his brothers, Lamb’s skin was pristine. Except for the Black Angel’s emblem borne on his arm, he was a blank canvas. There was little body hair, and of what he had, it was blond and disappeared against the pallor of his skin. Not even a single scar.

I had observed the Black Angels over time; they were barbaric, bold, and badass. They were rough and fought with each other and their enemies. They all had scars to tell the tales of their battles, but not Lamb. Not even a nick on his finger.

It should not come as a surprise; Lamb did most of the club’s paperwork rather than the grunt work that came with such an … enterprise.

My surprise, however, was placed somewhere else entirely. Not so much by his looks, but by his actions. Lamb, though inferior on many different levels to Wolf, had not a single fresh scratch, or mark, or bruise. For every lunge and swing of Wolf’s large powerful fists, Lamb swiftly ducked, dodged, and dipped out of his way. He was efficient, using only the barest movements and minimal energy to avoid attacks. Even an amateur like me could tell that Lamb knew how to fight. And how to fight well .

He took his time, teasing and taunting the lumbering giant. Wolf’s stamina seemed endless; fists swung through the air, neither losing precision nor speed as he chased Lamb’s shadow. At first, he missed his shoulder, then grazed his jaw, and then his fingers just skimmed past his side. Wolf was catching Lamb’s pace, growing closer and closer to landing a hit with each weighted swing.

The longer the fight dragged, the more time Wolf had to read Lamb’s movements. It was experience versus skill, and soon, the stalemate would end.

Lamb could dodge forever, but it would not win him the match, and with the speed Wolf was gaining on him, I doubted Wolf would let it drag on much longer.

As the thought crossed my mind, Lamb lunged.

His first offence shot him forward, grabbing the larger man by the neck. Then, using the momentum of his body weight, he dragged him down to his height.

Time stilled. Nobody moved, whispered, or breathed.

Lamb’s face was pressed against the side of Wolf’s, his lips pressed into his ear.

If Wolf’s face had turned red from physical exertion, it was now molten with pure rage.

A roar bellowed from Wolf’s chest, his mighty fist lunging for Lamb who barely managed to drop and duck out of the way. Rage carried Wolf forward, a barrage of fists flashing with furious fervent speed.

Lamb pulled back, niftily dodging the few centimetres he could buy to slide out of Wolf’s range.

They both peeled backwards across the concrete with Lamb on the defensive. The circle split at the seams as the men barrelled past it, people rushing to follow and bubble around the action.

I stared, frozen in the spot as the two men rampaged closer and closer to me. It was only as I spotted sweat flicking from their skin and smelt their hot breaths that I launched myself from the bench, my bones jolting with shock as I hit the concrete just as Wolf’s fist cracked into its target.

Wood splintered across the grounds, the table roaring in agony as it slid across the rough earth. Lamb’s dense body slammed into the lumber, his head bouncing.

It was over.

Wolf’s chest heaved with lumbered breaths, tremoring with rage and exhaustion. His hair was wild and loose, clinging to his sweat-slicked skin. Brown eyes glowered down at his vice president, hellfire burning within them.

“Fuck you,” Wolf spat.

With one last scathing glare, the man turned and walked away.

The Red Sea parted for the giant, swallowing his wide form into the ocean of people before it disappeared. Onlookers stole glances at Lamb’s limp body collapsed against the picnic bench before dispersing, leaving the two of us alone and abandoned in the car park.

I stared at the picnic bench, at Lamb as he winced and jostled his bruised and battered body, questions that had been smothered now bubbling to the surface. They struggled to find form, confusion and chaos causing interference.

“What just … happened?” I blinked, looking at him, half-dead, and then to the doorway where his opponent had vanished.

Lamb lifted a weak arm, draping his hand over his eyes, and I watched in horror as the corners of his mouth began to turn, twisting into a smile.

“Are you okay?” I moved next to him, my hands hovering in the air, unsure what to do or what to touch. “Did you hit your head? Do you have a concussion?”

Please, let it be a concussion.

“I’m beat.” Lamb chuckled, the noise raspy and crisp between staggered breaths.

“Yeah, you had the seven bells smacked out of you,” I quipped, disappointed to see it wasn’t a concussion. The man was just insane. “Was there not a more prideful way for you to lose?”

The hand shielding his face slipped away, the smirk flickering for just a second, away from humour and into a sternness that captured my eyes in his. The warmth had disappeared, and the robot inside looked back.

“I didn’t lose.”

“What?”

The robot powered down, and Lamb’s smile fluttered back into place as he looked up to the bright blue sky above, a rarity in the approaching winter. “I didn’t lose. ”

For a moment, a vision popped into my mind—the moment Lamb had pressed his face against Wolf’s. The grapple that had lasted too long for an attack, but too short for a hug.

I leaned over, my shadow darkening Lamb’s face. I grabbed his wrist, moved his arm, and held his eyes.

“What did you say to him?” I whispered, tracing his long, pale eyelashes flickering with the movements of his eyes. They jumped back and forth between mine as I stared down into the machine.

Lamb jerked faster than I could react.

Lips pressed against mine, warmth rushing over my cold skin as a hand latched around the back of my neck, blocking my escape.

I tasted the sweat of his skin and the iron of his blood. It was both disgusting and stimulating as I sunk into the powerful, prehistorical pull, danger alarms screaming in my brain, silenced by his firm, commanding lips.

When he let go, that smile stayed fixed on his split lip. “A secret.”

I’d almost forgotten the question as Lamb’s answer permeated my ears.

He slid around me with an ease an injured man should not have, hopping up onto his feet with pep and wandering back to the clubhouse.

I turned, staring at his wide, blank back for a moment, unsure how to feel about the satisfied look on his face between the blood and the brewing bruises. Lamb was always up to something, that much was guaranteed. But there was something off about this. Something different.

Something dangerous.

I had a new home.

The corner of the clubroom bar had become my safe space. It was far from prying eyes and out of the way of anyone who would think better of picking a fight while I nursed my lukewarm lemon water. There were not many openly hostile to me, but the blizzard that plagued the club in my presence still felt icy cold down to my bones. Silence was my only company; neither a word nor a gesture was thrown my way by any club member no matter how much time moved. I would see millennia pass before they would even begin to thaw.

It had been a week since I had been ejected from Lamb’s house and locked down in the clubhouse, and even if my social position remained static, my body had changed. My tremors had lessened, and my headaches were further apart. Most nights, sleep still eluded me, and even when it took, nightmares often followed. My body was recovering, but my mind still had some catching up.

Lamb’s confidence in me outweighed my own, as he’d grown comfortable leaving me alone in the club while he went out to finish various deals and business matters. Putting his work on hold while he had plotted and successfully managed to kidnap me had caused a backlog he was now catching up on.

I spent my time alone, idling away in his room or in my corner, too scared to venture past the invisible tape I had drawn for myself. Waiting for Lamb to return had become my only task.

“Want a refill?” A young voice cut through my solitude.

I looked up at the bright-eyed prospect. His head was a mop of shaggy brown curls, with large doe eyes the same warm, mousy colour. I did not recognise him, but he wore a prospecting jacket, stiff from the press with a fresh coat of black, a colour that would fade with wear and exposure to the sun the longer his tenure lasted.

“Name’s Roland.” The kid smiled, no older than eighteen or nineteen.

I gave him a long, steady look, adjusting my glasses to address him. “You should not go round telling everybody your name.”

He smirked, propping one arm on the bar, leaning close enough to whisper, “Who says it’s my real name?”

A smile flashed across my lips. “I do,” I retorted, seeing straight past the young man’s poor facade.

“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugged, retreating to his side of the bar. “I’ll have a road name soon enough. Something cool like lightning or Quicksilver, like the superhero.”

I frowned.

“You don’t know Quicksilver? Don’t tell me you’re a DC girl. Can’t be having that. Marvel all the way.”

“You are speaking a different language.” I chuckled. “Besides, I do not think that is how road names work. You do not get to pick.”

“’Course it is.” He smirked, puffing out his chest, flashing waggling fingers towards me. “Hunter, Wolf, Ripper—” he began ticking off his sworn big brothers’ names with his fingers and thumbs. “Everyone’s got such cool names.”

“Even Lamb?”

“ Wolf in sheep’s clothing , right?” he retorted, quick as a whip. “But they couldn’t have two Wolfs, so he became Lamb instead.” Before taking a breath of air, he added, “Haven’t had much of a chance to interact with him. People say he’s off looking for something, but I heard he’s like a genuine genius.”

He found what he was looking for.

I thought to the man who had slept beside me the last month. I could see the way he would come across, and how people would come to that conclusion regarding his name. I had heard many different rumours about how Lamb’s road name came to be; some more mild, and others wildly creative. Never had I heard Lamb himself say anything on the matter, however.

I had been trying so hard to distance myself from him from the second we’d met that I had not spent a moment to ask the question myself.

“He likes to think so,” I responded, realising Roland was waiting.

He began to speak some more, but I had already checked out of the conversation, my eyes drawn to the water in my glass, my lemon fragmenting into pieces, left to sit for far too long. I wondered what I knew about Lamb. The facts that I had, I could count on a single hand, and the realisation made me feel a little … empty?

Lamb knew nearly all there was to know about me, even beyond the information I had divulged. The mental file I had on him would not even be a full page thick.

The thought dragged me back into my seclusive silence, and after half a dozen neglected questions, Roland took his cue to busy himself farther down the bar.

I continued to wait.

L amb did not return until midnight, his footsteps light on the wooden floor as he traversed the space towards the bed. It dipped as he sat on the edge, and I waited, listening to his shoelaces pulling loose, the zip of his jeans, and the soft thump of his shirt and jacket being folded and placed neatly on top of the dresser.

He tucked himself behind me, chasing away the cold of the bed with his warmth, folding in over my back and sides.

His hand snaked around my waist, his nose pressing into the slope of my neck. The small hairs on my skin tickled from his breath.

“What did you do today?” Lamb grumbled, the noise vibrating down my spine.

I relaxed into his familiar and comforting shape. He adjusted himself, pulling back on my hips, taking my minimal weight onto his. His hard length pressed against the top curve of my arse, and my body purred.

“Nothing.” I stared across the room, my hands extended across the wide bed, my fingers blurred between darkness and my limited vision.

“Hmm,” Lamb rumbled, and the noise made me shift against him, energy stirring inside.

“Babe.” Lamb nipped at the nape of my neck. “If you keep moving, I’m not going to be able to leave you alone, and even though I’m fucking exhausted, I’ll fuck you till I pass out.”

I stiffened. I would not deny that I had been teasing him, even if only a little, but I had not expected the blatant response. Lamb loved to tease and torment me in the most convoluted of ways. Apparently, his filter dropped when he was tired. It was interesting. It was new. I added it to the file.

“Such a gentleman,” I scoffed.

Lamb did not rise to the jab. Instead, his hand tightened around my waist, pulling me closer as his hard mass wedged its way between my arse cheeks. “ Gentle isn’t your type,” he growled.

“Oh yeah?” I wiggled. “Then what is my type?”

“Me.” Lamb pressed a wet, demanding kiss to my neck. “And only me.”

A hand turned rogue as it skated up from my waist, tracing the small dips of my breasts as it climbed higher over my chest. His fingers circled over my shoulders and slid down the length of my arms. In the dark, I could see and feel his hands as they found mine own, encircling them in his larger palms.

I wanted to have the last word, to say that Lamb could not be defined as a type, per se. But a deep-seated warmth kept my mouth slack and my lips still as I sank into the firm, enveloping body around me. I would let him have this one. Just this once.

Silence stretched long into the eternal night as I stared through the shifting darkness at Lamb’s large hands encasing my own. I shifted out of his grip, freeing my hands so they could toy with his. I traced each of his long fingers, following the grooves of his palm and the hills of his knuckles. I pressed my palm into his pliant ones, amazed at how much longer his hands were than mine. I threaded our fingers together, the tips of my own touching the rough scabs of his knuckles, the remnants of his fight with Wolf. A fight I had no answers for, nor the belief I would get any.

If I had fallen asleep throughout the night, I would not have known as each phase of the night bled into the next until the darkness receded.

Golden sunlight crested on the horizon, and flaxen light trickled into the room. Birdsong picked up in the forest beyond the clubhouse grounds and early riser vehicles hummed in the distance.

I had forgotten to close the curtains last night, and the tide of morning soon washed across the bed and warmed my face.

Lamb stirred behind me, having not moved a single muscle the entire night. He shifted with wakefulness, his hands tightening around our interlocked palms as he nuzzled his head into my back. “You’re awake,” he grumbled, voice rough and thick.

I hummed back at him.

Lamb sighed. “You didn’t sleep.”

It was not a question; merely an observation, one I could not refute.

I began to play with Lamb’s hand once again, and despite not being as limp as when Lamb had slept, he kept them relaxed, bending them to my puppeteering motions. “Lamb …”

Lamb murmured something in response, but it was smothered between my back and the bedsheets.

“Lamb.”

Another mumble.

I turned, jostling Lamb from his hole as he lifted his head to accommodate my invading shoulder. His eyes remained pinched closed against the dawning light as he propped his chin up onto a free hand that had snaked away from under my head.

I rested my palms against his face, his skin warm to the cool touch of my fingers. “ Lamb. ”

“I like it when you call me like that,” he grumbled, a weak, sleepy smile pulling on his lips.

“How did you get your road name?”

Lamb smiled, warm brown eyes opening, sunlight glimmering in their depths. “You curious?” he purred. “About me?”

“You know everything about me, but …” I trailed into silence, not liking how pathetic and whiney it sounded.

His smile grew between my palms. “I wouldn’t say everything ,” Lamb amended. “But I do know a lot.”

“I think we should be on even ground,” I said. “Know thy enemy and all.”

“I hadn’t labelled us as enemies.” Lamb ground his hips into my arse, and the whole length of his hard shaft agreed with him. “In fact, I think allies are more appropriate.”

I scoffed.

“But,” Lamb said, “I can see how that would make you jealous.”

“Jealous?” I gasped. “Not likely.”

“Fine,” Lamb sighed, shifting away from me and letting the cold air seep between us. The covers pulled taut as he rolled to the other side of the bed. “Then I will cancel our date tomorrow.”

“What date?” Surprise pushed me up to sit, turning to look over my shoulder at the wide sulking back. “We did not plan a date.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Lamb grumbled. “I was going to show you how I got my road name, but I guess you’re not that curious.”

“Are you”—I could not believe my eyes—“sulking?”

The robot was malfunctioning.

“No,” Lamb scoffed. “I’m sulking as much as you are jealous.”

“Then I guess you are not sulking,” I huffed, dropping back onto the bed to mirror his position.

We both lay there for a long, pregnant moment, our petulant words dancing on the dust in the air.

“This is childish,” I huffed, my patience already non-existent.

Two brown eyes stared back into mine. I had not heard him, but the ninja had long since turned to face me. There was no upset in his eyes, but rather a bemused twinkle.

“Date. Tomorrow.” Lamb smiled, reaching a hand over to my hips, fingers warm over my skin, tugging me gently back into the curve of his body.

I paused, my pathetic irritation melting in the warmth of his gaze. “Fine,” I sighed. “I guess I can squeeze you in.”

“Squeeze me in?” Lamb chuckled. “I didn’t realise you’re so busy.”

“I am. Very much so,” I said. “I am very popular; I will have you know.”

Lamb did not respond to that. Instead, he just gazed at me. I wondered if he would call me out on my blatant lie, but he did not.

“Just to let you know”—Lamb smiled—“it’s not because I’m a ‘Wolf in sheep’s clothing’.”

It took a second to click, but when it did, my gaze narrowed on his smug, handsome face, my irritation rekindling.

“You have been spying on me?”

“So what if I have?” Lamb shamelessly shrugged, unabashed by my tone.

My fist tightened in the pillow, and I wondered how swiftly I could pull it from underneath my head and smack it around his.

“You could at least pretend to feel guilty,” I grumbled, the fight swallowed back down my throat as my brain barged in.

The fact he had been spying on me was unsurprising. As far as I was concerned, this was as much enemy territory as it was outside. Their goodwill only extended from their respect for Lamb, nothing more and nothing less. Lamb watching over me felt nice, curbing the weak and bitter emotions seeping underneath. I was weak and powerless without him.

I rolled away from him, my inferior feelings trampling on the soft moment.

Lamb’s body followed, his hips finding purchase against mine, one arm sliding under the pillow, the other draped over my waist. He nuzzled in against my neck, his new favourite place, and took a long, deep breath, his weight settling against me, comfortable and secure.

I turned back into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and sliding my fingers through his soft blond hair as I pulled myself tighter against him.

“I told you.” Lamb rubbed his cheek against mine, his lips brushing my ear. “You’ll never be able to hide from me. I’ll know where you are at every moment. No matter what you do, or think, or want, you’ll be right by my side.” His knee slid between mine, stopping an inch from touching my core and pinning me against the bed. “As practically as that can be arranged.”

I was aware of Lamb’s possessive side. I would be a blind fool to not see it at this point. That slightly warped, twisted obsession that had been brewing for me. The nature that allowed little leniency with the things that belonged to him. The darkness that took over the moment he had me in his grasp …

It did not surprise me anymore.

What did surprise me, however, was the knot that loosened in my chest. It was like taking a deep breath for the first time in years. That, for once, my lungs were filled, and oxygen flooded my starved veins. My heart pounded with a strength and a freedom it had never had before.

When I should be revolted and fearful of Lamb’s psychotic nature, I felt … protected.

Unbeknownst to me, the absolute control that had once smothered me had become my shelter. Where I had been the last few embers of a dying fire, ready to let my final light fade, Lamb had become a pair of shielding hands that had protected me and nurtured me back to flame. I was far from burning on my own, but it was there, that little glow of hope.

The mystery was no longer who Lamb was or what he desired. Now it was me. Who I was. Who I could become.

Lamb was not Pandora’s box, after all.

I was.