Chapter 8: The Cut
954 Words
It started with an argument.
Of course it did.
The kind that spun fast, raw, made of too many nights without sleep and too many words left unsaid. The kind where her voice cracked and his jaw locked, both too proud and too afraid to say what they really meant.
“You promised you’d stay in bed, Grizz!” Aubrey snapped, throwing her purse onto the counter of the clubhouse kitchen.
Murphy was standing at the sink shirtless, one hand braced against the edge, stitches tugging at the skin on his side as he tried to make coffee like he wasn’t one week out from almost dying.
“Doc cleared me.”
“No. He said soon. Not today. Jesus, you’re bleeding again!”
Murphy turned slowly, blood leaking through the white gauze taped to his ribs, eyes dark and unreadable. “You done yelling?”
Aubrey stalked toward him, yanking open a drawer and grabbing the first aid kit. “I’ll be done when you stop being a bull-headed caveman.”
He didn’t move when she shoved his arm out of the way and started peeling off the soaked bandage, her hands gentle but her glare fierce.
“You think I’m scared of blood?” she muttered. “You think I care that you got shot? I care that you’re a goddamn i***t who won’t let people care for him.”
Murphy’s voice came quiet. “I let you.”
She froze.
His eyes were on her.
Not hard. Not guarded. But wide open.
It undid her like a blade to the ribs.
She couldn’t look at him. Not like that. Not when her hands were still sticky from his blood and her heart felt like it had been squeezed raw for days straight.
“I can’t lose you,” she whispered.
“Then stop acting like you could.”
---
It wasn’t rushed.
It wasn’t sweet.
It wasn’t angry.
It was all of it.
---
He kissed her like she belonged to him.
Like he’d been starving and only now let himself taste.
He didn’t ask.
Didn’t need to.
The second her fingers curled around the chain on his neck and tugged him down, it was done. He lifted her onto the kitchen counter, her thighs wrapping around his hips, her breath hot against his neck as she whispered, “Take it off, Grizz.”
“You sure?” he murmured against her collarbone.
“You’re bleeding on me,” she replied.
“You started it, brat.”
“Don’t you ever forget it.”
---
Upstairs, it got worse. Better. Messier.
Murphy was all muscle and hands too big to be that careful—but he was careful. So f*****g careful. Every touch was patient, reverent, even as she bit his shoulder and raked her nails down his chest.
“You’re being gentle,” she teased, breathless beneath him. “Didn’t think the big bad biker knew how to go slow.”
Murphy growled, the sound vibrating against her throat. “You keep runnin’ that mouth, baby, and I’ll make you scream it shut.”
“Promises, promises—”
He slammed into her and the teasing ended.
But the laughter lingered.
Soft. Shaky. Real.
---
After, they lay tangled in his sheets, skin slick and bruised from love and anger and everything in between.
Aubrey had one leg draped over him, her cheek on his chest, fingers absently tracing the edge of the bandage on his ribs.
Murphy’s hand was in her hair, gently untangling it, over and over, like it soothed him.
“You’re mine now,” he murmured.
“You say that like I’m gonna argue.”
“You usually do.”
She tilted her chin to meet his gaze. “Not about this.”
Murphy leaned down and kissed her—slow, deep, his lips brushing hers like a brand.
“I mean it, Aubrey. You’re mine. No walking. No running. No more pretending you don’t want this.”
She didn’t blink.
Didn’t flinch.
Just nodded once and whispered, “Okay, Grizz.”
---
The next morning, Murphy had to leave early—club business, something about a supplier acting up, and Andie needed backup. He kissed her forehead, told her to sleep in, and left her wrapped in his sheets and the scent of leather and smoke.
When he came back later that afternoon, she was in the common room.
Barefoot.
Wearing one of his old tees, cut short over her stomach.
And his cut.
The black leather vest hung off her small frame like armor, the Feral Sons patch heavy across her back. She was curled on the couch reading, one knee pulled up, a cup of coffee beside her, completely casual like she hadn’t just ripped his goddamn soul out of his chest and stitched it back in again with a look.
He stopped in the doorway and stared.
She didn’t look up.
Didn’t say a word.
Just turned the page and sipped her drink like it was the most natural thing in the world to wear his colors like a second skin.
Murphy crossed the room in three long strides and yanked her off the couch into his arms.
“You got any idea what this means?” he asked low into her hair.
Aubrey looked up at him, eyes wide and wicked. “You gonna growl at me again if I say no?”
Murphy’s smile was all teeth. “I’ll do more than growl.”
She kissed him, laughing into his mouth. “Guess I’ll just have to behave then.”
“You’re not capable of that.”
“Lucky for you,” she whispered, “you like a brat.”
- Writer
