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Poppy’s mischievous smile is perfection. Her hands rise to cup her breasts beneath my cut, and she sinks onto my fingers, taking three inside her cunt. Her head turns to the side, and she leans all the way forward, placing her cheek on my chest as she moans loudly for me.

“Fuck, Walker. Yes, please.” Her sounds are almost as loud as the wetness from my fingers working her dripping snatch.

I slam my fingers home as she writhes on my chest, ass high in the air for the nice doc’s viewing pleasure. He pants softly against the wall as she comes on my hand. Fluids gush over my palm and I lean my head back, satisfied I’ve tormented the man enough. My eyes close for a second, and it’s the single mistake I make.

Cool fingers close on my wrist. I jerk upright, but his touch isn’t rough or cruel. Slipper stares down at Poppy’s soaked cunt as though it’s the most precious gem he’s ever seen.

“You’re very wet, miss,” he murmurs, stroking a featherlight touch across my fingers still buried in her and over her folds while I barely breathe, gauging his interest. “I should check you’re okay.”

Poppy shudders at the impact of another man’s hands on her, but remains still. I flex my fingers inside her and she mewls softly, but still doesn’t move. We’re okay. For now. The scalpel is still in her hand and I know that the moment she’s uncomfortable is the last breath the doc will ever take.

But something about the strange, soft man tells me this is more of a role-play moment for him than anything else. A fantasy, perhaps, that he’d never otherwise take. I let it play out as he strokes her thighs, the curve of her ass. Presses his fingers against her asshole, rubs lube there. I growl, letting him know that’s my territory, and he backs off with a raised eyebrow.

“But here,” he murmurs. “You’re very red. So wet.” He rubs his fingers against the lips of her pussy where I still have three fingers embedded inside her. “How many can you take, little flower?”

Her breath hitches as he slides a finger into her pussy alongside mine. Cool, long, it’s unusual to feel another man finger a woman with me but when she moans, I go with it, stroking her inner walls that flutter for us. A moment later, she’s used to us and he pushes another digit in.

“That’s five,” he whispers, leaning down to lick her pussy lips, cleaning her up.

I work her slowly, unwilling to tear her, though the stretch must be immense. Poppy’s legs are spread wide across my lap, her body slumped and languid across mine.

“You good?” I rumble, unable to pull her up my body. Fuck, the stitches sting but I’m not about to stop if this is getting her off.

“So good,” she murmurs, rocking back a little faster. “Deeper?”

We both push together, and Slipper angles his head to lick her clit. She bears down on him and he’s trapped between us, her grinding down and my cock raging in its leather confines. The sensation is too much. I come with her, both of us groaning our need as he licks her to completion. Her pretty little cunt clamps down on our fingers, over and over again as cum spurts out the top of my pants, coating his hair.

His moan is audible and I know he finally succumbed to the same strange pleasure that’s encompassed us all.

When Poppy slides slightly to the side, Slipper is freed. His hair is covered with my fluids and his shirt is damp with hers. Poppy moans when we ease our fingers from her cunt, and she turns to suck his hand clean, presenting me with her stunning rump. I lap at her hole, soothing her from the stretch she’s received from us both.

“Thank you for your help,” she mumbles around Slipper’s fingers jammed into her throat. “I promise I’ll come back to you again.” Her words are garbled but understandable.

I stroke her hair and fix my pants, wiping myself off with a cloth from his table and toss it back. “Not without me.”

I stand, letting the burn in my side remind me where I am and why remaining here is a bad fucking idea. “Little flower.” I use his name for her. “We can’t stay.”

She lets his fingers pop from her lips with a pout. “He’s fun.”

“Then we can come back when your father isn’t on the rampage.” The evidence of my wisdom echoes in the sound of engines in the not-too-far distance. “Come on.”

I pull her out the door and onto my bike, jamming a helmet onto her head. The road is my safety net, and I have a place several towns away that will earn us time. To heal. To talk. To understand whatever the fuck this is and why I’m falling headfirst into insanity for the woman who tried to kill me then save me in the same hour.

This is the life we live.

Chapter Seven

Confessions

Poppy

The road vanishes under us, a torn scar of asphalt, bleeding into the kind of dusk that promises nothing but trouble. The Saints’ compound shrinks in the mirrors, another nightmare in a graveyard of them. I don’t ask where we’re headed. Walker’s got all the warmth of a loaded gun and just as much conversation.

The bike devours the miles, every vibration a reminder of what we left behind—blood, chaos, Samuel’s look when he realized I’d chosen the wrong side, or maybe that I never chose at all.

The air stinks of rain, heavy and metallic, but the sky’s just fucking with us. My hands hover near Walker’s sides, close enough to feel the heat rolling off him, far enough I don’t have to admit I want to hold on. Every bump rattles through him, a silent “fuck you” from the universe, each jolt a reminder: I did this. My knife. My hands. His blood soaking my skin while I tried like hell to keep him alive.

Guilt chews me up, sharp as barbed wire. I don’t know what’s worse, that I almost killed him, or that I couldn’t fucking let him go.