Resurrection (Wesson Rebel MC Series Book 3) by Shyla Colt

to cast, and once you’re in the water, I’ll get myself set up. Here, walk a bit closer to the water.” I stand behind her, wrap my arm around her waist, and cover my hand on hers on the pole. “Press the button in, bring your arm back, toss it and release.” I walk her through a few casts. “We’re going to do it on three. One, two, three…” We let go and the line sails through the air, landing in the middle of the river. “Perfect. Now, let it sit for a bit and slowly reel it in.” I watch her for a few moments. “You got it. If you get a bite, pull up.” I gesture a hooking motion. I move over to my pole and cast.
    We pass the time peacefully co-existing; a new experience for the two of us. It’s funny, I have a hard time remembering exactly why we were at each other’s throat, now that she’s set aside the Lorello persona.
    Which is the real her?
    I hear a commotion and turn to see her dancing a jig as she tugs at her pole.
    “You got one on?” I hurry over and assess the situation. “Plant your feet and reel it in.” I wrap my arms around her and help her tug the rod toward us. Whatever she has on the line is pretty big. “You got a big one.” I take her noises as those of excitement. Her round ass presses into my groin as we bring in the fish. My cock stirs. I will my blood to circulate elsewhere in my body and pray she’s too caught up in the moment to notice. She smell’s sweet and pure. It’s an intoxicating aroma.
    We continue to bring it in. I catch a glimpse of the multi-colored ten pounder. “Looks like we have a sunfish. And he’s a fat one.” The sunfish gives up the battle and I step back, allowing her to cross the finish line on her own.
    She proudly holds up the flopping fish.
    I laugh. “You want to catch and release, or eat him?”
    She wrinkles her nose up in reply.
    I laugh some more. “All right, let me get him off the hook.”
    The rest of the day passes much the same. We get into a rhythm. The fish are biting, the weather is perfect, and I’m having more fun than I ever thought possible with her. As we gather our things to leave…she tells me thank you and I feel a flicker of feelings I haven’t experienced in a long time. It’s scary as hell.
    I need to be careful around this one.
     

     
    Houdini/Ira
     
    I hold my side and limp my way into the bathroom. Every step hurts, despite the meds I have running through me. I refuse to take narcotics, so all the doc did was take the edge off. I need to keep my wits about me. I don’t trust Giancarlo completely. This could be a well-constructed plan to take me out.
    Though, I doubt it. He could’ve taken me out and been done with it.
    I lean heavily against the wall as I pee. My ribs are fractured. I have a hole through my bones that aches like a bitch, and I’m weak as a newborn. They gave me just enough water and food to keep me from dying before they got what they wanted.
    I can only assume it was Vita, or maybe we were waiting for Lorenzo to arrive. There’s no way my uncle would’ve let him finish me off without showing his face. I growl. I wish the bastard had been there. Then it could’ve been his brains splattered all over that basement.
    I finish up and move to the mirror. It’s the first chance I’ve had to study my face. I wince. I don’t know the man looking back at me. I’m swollen and discolored like a bloated body. My lips are three times their normal size and busted open in three different places.
    The scabs make me look like I have herpes.
    I’ve been cut from my neck down, my fingernails are caked with blood from where they slid the tips of their blades under my nails. My voice feels permanently hoarse from the screaming. There’s no such thing as stoic when someone is drilling through your bone and trying to take off your fingernails. But I didn’t crack. That’s all that really matters. There were a few times when they placed the plastic bag over my head until I lost consciousness that I