Wild Like the Wind (Page 2)

For Hound, who was young, this consideration was an extreme honor.

Still.

Hound did not want this.

He had another position in the Club, now more than ever.

And he needed to be free to focus on it.

But he went anyway.

He had to.

For him, there was no other choice.

Tack knocked on the door and she didn’t make them wait. She probably hadn’t slept in weeks. But she’d know to be waiting for this.

Because she was Chaos.

When she opened it, Hound felt the sight of her hit him like a punch in the throat.

It wasn’t about her beauty, which was extreme.

A sheet of black hair that glistened like silk. Lush features that stamped plain her American lineage was either native or seriously exotic. Body, long and lean. Tits, firm and high. Ass, round and sweet. Skin, smooth and tanned.

Hound had rounded the Compound years ago in order to dump a spent keg back there and caught Black fucking his then fiancé, now widow, against the back wall. Before he’d backed away silently, he’d seen that beautiful face in orgasm and he’d never forgotten it.

But it was before that when he’d taken the fall for Keely Black.

So now it was not about her beauty, that punch in the throat.

Now it was about the dead in her eyes, the grief carved in her features in a way each brother knew, Hound especially with the attention he’d given her, she’d not put the effort in to smoothing it out.

She’d met, fallen in love with, married and given two sons to the only man on earth that was good enough for her.

Now he was dead.

And she might be breathing, but she was the same.

“Where are the boys, honey?” Tack murmured.

“Asleep,” Keely replied, her unusual, low, smooth voice even on that one word slithering through the air like a ripple of velvet.

She knew the drill and moved out of the way as Tack moved in.

Hop, Boz, Dog, Brick and Hound moved in after her. Each man took time with her, stopping, touching her, pressing lips to her forehead, stubbled cheeks to her smooth one.

Not Hound.

He stopped in front of her and looked down into her dark-brown eyes.

She stared up in his.

I’d take his place if I could, he thought.

But he said nothing.

He just followed his brothers and walked into her living room.

Keely followed him, and after Hound stopped by Brick, Tack spoke.

“It’s done.”

For a second, Hound didn’t know if she heard him.

Then she asked, “It is?”

“It is, darlin’,” Tack said gently. “Black has been avenged.”

He hadn’t, Hound thought. Not yet. Not fully. But he will be.

“Now what?” Keely asked, and Hound reckoned he was giving her all of his attention, but at that question he realized he was wrong.

“We—” Tack started.

“I don’t care about Chaos,” she cut him off.

He felt the men beside him draw in breaths, shuffle their feet uncomfortably, because this wasn’t just said about the brotherhood. This was said by Keely, who was an old lady but she was so much a part of Chaos, through Black but also just on her own, she’d loved her place in it so huge, it was also like a punch in the gut.

But Hound narrowed his eyes at her, taking in every inch of her, his lungs on fire, his palms itching, his need to go to her, draw her near, pull her close, absorb her pain, make it all okay so overwhelming, he felt his energy leaking out of him with the effort it took to contain it.

“What I wanna know is, now what? Now what for me? For my boys?” she asked.

“We’ll take care of you, Keely. Like Black was still with us, until your last breath, Chaos will have your back. You’ll get his cut of everything at the store, the garage. The brothers will—”

“You gonna take out the trash?” she asked.

Yes, Hound thought.

Brick waded in. “If that’s what you need, baby.”

She looked to Brick. “Okay, so who’s gonna make my boys chocolate chip and peanut butter pancakes every Sunday morning?”

I will, Hound thought.

“Keely, darlin’—” Tack began.

“And who’s gonna drag Dutch’s ass outta bed when he’s bein’ a pain. He’s in kindergarten and he hates school so much, I know I’m gonna have a fight on my hands for the next twelve years until he can see the end of it.”

I will, Hound thought.

“We’ll be there for your boys,” Dog said.

It was like Dog didn’t speak.

She kept at them.

“And who’s gonna bring me a shit ton of ibuprofen when I get period cramps so bad it makes me sick to my stomach and I can’t move?” she pushed. “Who’s gonna make up the hot water bottle for me and rub my back until they’re gone? Who’s gonna do that? Tell me, who?”

I will, Hound thought.

No one said anything.

But she still wasn’t done.

“And who’s gonna fuck me breathless, make me come so hard I think the world is ending? Who’s gonna give it to me again and again and again, night after night after night, just like I like it? Exactly like I like it,” she bit out.

I will, Hound thought.

“Keely, honey—” Hop tried gently.

“It’s not done,” she spat, leaning toward Tack, her gorgeous face twisting with an agony no woman should be forced to bear. “It’ll never be done.”

“I used the wrong words, darlin’, I’m so sorry,” Tack whispered.

“How done is he?” she demanded to know.

“Very done,” Boz answered firmly.

“Who did it?” she asked Boz.

“We all did,” Hop answered.

But her eyes went right to Hound.

And he looked right into them.

She knew.

There was a reason he was called Hound.

It started out as a joke, the guys digging into him about his unusual first name.

But with the hell Crank had thrown them into, it became other things.

Loyalty, one.

Stubbornness, another.

Difficult to rein in, and when he got the scent, impossible to hold back, yet another.

Not giving up and going the extra mile until the job was done, the last.

She was an old lady and she’d been around a long time.

But she was Keely, her heart as open and giving as her mouth was smart. She was Black’s and she was Chaos’s and she loved it like that. She knew every brother down to his soul. Even if they didn’t give her that, she watched, she looked after them in any way she could.

She knew.

Because the first part that made Hound a hound was the most important.

“We’ve lost Black, but you, Dutch and Jagger haven’t lost Chaos,” Tack told her, and she turned her attention to him.

Hound felt his entire frame tighten when the change started coming over her features, and he felt his brothers experience the same as the air in the room went flat.

“I can’t do it,” she said quietly.

“You can,” Tack said firmly.

“The boys are lost,” she whispered, the agony of a woman who’d lost her man melting into something far more difficult to witness.

The anguish of a mother whose boys lost their father.

“We’ll keep them steady,” Tack vowed.

“I’m—” she cut herself off and swallowed.

“We got you,” Tack said gently. “We’ll always have you. We’ll always be there.”