Read Online Poet by Juli Valenti - Free Book Online Page B

onto the couch, turning her to face away from him, and wrapped her in his arms.
    “Don’t think this means I won’t fucking bury your ass, Bishop.”
    “Shut the hell up, Poet,” he answered, though there was little heat to his words.
    Slowly, her breathing became even and she allowed herself to relax into his body. She didn’t even have time to question what they’d done – she was blissfully asleep within seconds.

Chapter Seven
 
     
    Poet moved silently down the stairs, her body aching from both the beating and her afternoon workout with Titan. She’d woken at dusk and carefully extracted herself from the tight grip he had on her in his sleep. She needed to get out, now rather than later.
    So, making as little noise as possible, she showered again, threw her hair up in a tight top knot, and dressed quickly. Knowing very little about the man naked and passed out on her couch, she wasn’t sure if he was a light sleeper or not, and she didn’t want to chance him waking.
    Snatching her rig and ensuring her gun was still loaded, with the safety on, she slipped into it, sighing at its familiar weight as she snuck out into the garage. The door was loud as it rolled open and she almost held her breath, waiting for a pissed-off biker to rage after her. Luckily, he didn’t.
    Poet backed her bike out into the driveway before starting the engine. She didn’t really have a plan as to where she was going – she knew she was hungry, having only eaten breakfast, so the store was going to be on the list somewhere. But she was restless, frustrated, and the cool night air blowing in her face helped clear her mind.
    About a mile down the road, she slowed, deciding at the last minute to make a quick right down the small country path. It had been a while since she’d been there; the grass had grown and wildflowers were in bloom. A part of her wished she’d come earlier in the day, when the sun was shining, but then, if it had been, she probably wouldn’t have.
    Slowing to a stop, she parked her bike and climbed off, leaving her helmet on the seat. Her footsteps were soft as she moved, as if every movement forward had to be quieter than the last to avoid disturbing them.
    Two granite tombstones came into view and she sat in front of them, remaining silent while idly cleaning the area of stray sticks and leaves.
    “Hey Momma, hey Pop,” she whispered, the ground cold through her black yoga pants. Wrapping her arms around herself, her gaze moved between the two stones, the last pieces of her parents.
    “Sorry it’s been so long since I visited y’all. Shit’s been crazy with the club and, well, we all know I avoid things that make me less than strong.”
    Poet closed her eyes, conjuring up images of her mom and dad. Her pop came up in her mind quickly, a picture flip-book of memories and smiles, of lessons learned. Her mother, though, was like a ghost, a wisp of a face in the back of her head.
    Lenore Butler died when she was just shy of three, having been in the wrong place at the wrong time – her life ending in a heartbeat at the hands of their enemies. Diablo Hermanos had been pissed at the club, having felt jilted over a deal gone bad. To get even, they planned a drive-by shooting; the brothers had been unharmed. Her mother, though, who wasn’t even supposed to be there but decided to surprise her husband with an unplanned visit with their daughter, had been killed. Poet had been strapped in the backseat at the time.
    Her hand rubbed at the scar on her calf, the only physical scar she had from the event. It had been a miracle, the police said, that she hadn’t been killed as well – her car seat had somehow stopped the slugs that would have taken her life. All but the one. Of course, the emotional scars couldn’t be seen from the outside. No child, no daughter, should ever lose their mother at such a young age. It simply wasn’t right.
    Fury had been beside himself – full of anger, self-hatred, even fear at