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And here she fucking is, in my useless arms. Jesus, I’m out of commission for the foreseeable future, like a baby who can’t do shit for himself.

I pour myself into the kiss, stroking her tongue with mine, tasting her. Owning her the only way I can right now. I would give my left nut to be able to touch her, run my fingers over every inch of her body and make her mine.

I roll my hips, my dick hard against her sweet ass. Truie slides her hands over my shoulders, twisting her fingers in my hair. I want to get closer to her, need to, so I lean back and thrust my hips and screech like a little bitch.

“Oh,” Truie yelps, jumping off my lap at the same time Christophe and Eddie waltz back into the room.

Christophe glares at me while addressing Truie, “If he hurt you, I’ll finish the job Des started.”

Red paints Truie’s cheeks as she shakes her head adamantly. “N-no, I think it was me. I hurt him. God, Teague, is your back okay? Did any of the scabs tear?”

“Pretty sure he’d be willing to lay down on a bed of broken glass and then some for you.” Eddie rolls his eyes and settles into Christophe’s chair, pulling the laptop in front of him. He attaches a card reader to one of the side ports and extracts a SIM card from multiple small zip lock bags.

Ignoring the tension hanging thick and heavy in the office, he slides the card into the reader and mumbles, “Here we go. Probably won’t be able to get anything worth a shit.” He taps on the touchpad and waits, Christophe posted up behind him while I sit across the desk from them, staring at Truie, with a hard on I can’t do a single thing with. Fucking awkward as hell is what this is.

I should move, peel my back off of the leather chair and pray that I don’t leave all my DNA behind, but I’m terrified. I don’t think I can handle making that noise again.

“Huh. Would you fucking look at that,” Eddie mumbles.

Christophe leans in and huffs a laugh. “Jesus, fuck.” He shifts his gaze to Truie as Eddie scrolls through the information and adds, “Looks like you did it. There’s… God damn, there’s fucking everything here, enough to ruin pretty much everyone in this town. What do you want to do with it?”

Truie steps away from the desk and freezes. “Me?”

“You. This is here because you took care, protected it, guarded it with your life. What happens now is up to you.” Christophe and I have talked, he knows at least to some degree how much of Truie’s control was stripped away from her. I owe him for keeping that in mind as he holds what could likely end him in the palm of his hand.

“What if…what if I don’t want to make that decision? What if I don’t want anything to do with it anymore?”

“Then that’s your choice, hummingbird.” I reach to take her hand, again, and can’t. “Fucking Desmond needs to pay for all the shit he did to us.” I growl, loud and full of frustration as I lean forward, peeling my back from the leather. When I stand, Truie’s wedged between Christophe’s desk and me. I wrap my arms around her, looking at my boss and his lawyer, whose head is likely spinning at all the dirty deeds he can no longer deny knowledge of. “We done here? I need to lay down and⁠—”

“Before you fall down. Probably pretty light-headed about now,” Eddie finishes without even shifting his focus.

“Go. You’ve earned your day off”—Christophe redirects his focus from me to Truie—“I promise to safeguard this for you⁠—”

“It’s yours. I don’t want it. I don’t want the details of what it says, or what you do with it. I want to put all of that behind me as much as I can.”

“You have my word. But make things right with my wife. She’s devastated, and I can’t stand for that to continue. She made a mistake, a big one for sure, but she needs to be absolved. Talk to her.”

“I will.”

One small hand presses into my abdomen, turning me toward the exit from the room. We walk side by side to my suite, silence rife with so many questions, I’m not sure where to start, or if I even want to. I could sleep for a week.

Truie stops in the hallway between my suite and the one that was supposed to be hers. She presses her thumb to the panel next to my door, releasing the lock and opening it for me. I step through surprised when she doesn’t immediately follow me.

“I think Winnie’s in there”—her gaze slides to the open door across the hall—“I’m going to talk to her. Go ahead and try to get comfortable, I’ll be right in.”

I stay exactly where I am. I’d cross my arms over my chest to emphasize the fact that I’m not taking my eyes off of her, but the action would be comical at best. Big, bad-ass, ginger only goes so far on a good day. With my hands wrapped, casted and basically useless, I’m fairly certain I’d come off more like a helpless kitten than anything else. But I hold my ground and watch her slip into the room, listen to the gently whispered words and the soft sobs. And when the women exit the room, hand in hand, I take stock of Truie, confirming that whatever just happened inside that room didn’t leave her with any more scars.

Winnie stifles a gasp when she sees me, gaze hitting each of my hands, and the marks on my face. “I’m so sorry, Teague. I’m so⁠—”

“No worries,” I tell her, extending my wrapped broken hand toward Truie. “Help me get settled, hummingbird. I’m about dead on my feet.”

Truie gives Winnie’s hand a quick squeeze and release then enters my suite.

“You really love her,” Winnie says, softly. Reverently.

“More than my own life,” I respond, noting the sob as I turn on my heel giving her an unobstructed view of my back and let the door swing shut behind me.

“You l-love me?”