HOPEFUL WHISPERS

Bink Cummings

Hopeful Whispers

Bink Cummings

Copyright © 2016/2017 by: Bink Cummings

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

Proofreader/Editor- Genevive Scholl

Proofreader/Beta- Heather Hendrickson, Mary Bevinger, Kylie Sharp, Tammy Anderson, and Alex Olsen.

Cover Artist- Bink Cummings

Photo provided from: BigStock

Ebook Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to the Author and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Pregnant-✔

Single mother of two -✔

Biker best friend –✔

Ex that’s still a D-Bag –✔ ✔

New Year’s is the time for new beginnings. I thought I’d gotten that when I visited Texas over Thanksgiving. Then again, very little has changed. I’m still a librarian living in the same house. My daughters are growing up fast. Sure, I’ve acquired a new best friend who’s convinced me it’s time to give dating a fair shot. Which isn’t exactly easy when I’m pregnant with an Asshole’s baby. Does that complicate matters? Sorta. But there’s nothing left for me to do except move on. The jagged edges of my shattered heart have been polished. Questions answered, and blank holes from my past plugged. Now I’m ready to take the plunge into uncharted waters, to build a happier life… until a bomb comes along and tests my strength like never before. Nobody fucks with my family and gets away with it. Not even you.

Note: This book takes place in between Vol 1 and Vol 2 in MC Chronicles.

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Dedicated to:

My family, both Sacred Sisters and blood relation alike.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Note from Author

The bright, colorful ball broadcasted on our TV counts down the seconds—5, 4, 3, 2, 1…

“Happy New Year!” I cheer, shooting to my feet from the oversized chair in our living room. Following suit, Scarlett and Roxie stand from the couch with mild enthusiasm. Taking a few strides toward them, I hook my arms around their necks. Tugging them into a mighty bear hug, I kiss the side of their heads one at a time.

“Mooom,” they drone in unison.

I kiss them again for good luck. “Happy New Year, my munchkins.”

Head tucked against my shoulder in a quasi-headlock, Scarlett chuckles. “Mom, we’re not munchkins anymore. We’re almost as tall as you.”

And whose fault is that? The question tingles on the tip of my tongue. Their father’s, of course. Although, I won’t dare speak his name in front of my kids. Not when it raises more questions and sorrow. It’s not worth it. Not for me, and certainly not for them.

Roxie’s hand rubbing my belly tears me from my thoughts. “Happy New Year, little sis,” she says, pressing her palm firmly to the side of the bump. She does this a lot, trying to coax a reaction out of her baby sister. This time she’s rewarded with some sort of tuck and roll. My new bundle of joy is less active than her sisters ever were. Either that or I’m just older and remember things differently. Who knows?

Kissing their soft, blonde heads again, I release them from their arm-prison. Roxie plops back onto the couch, but not before pecking my cheek. Scarlett, needing more attention, wraps her arm around my lower back, cuddling my side like she’s done since she was teeny. I hug in return, because there’s nothing better than spending New Year’s Eve celebrating with your two most favorite people on the entire planet. We made a day of it, too. Like we’ve done since they were toddlers. We painted our nails garish colors, moisturized our hair with the expensive conditioner I bought and ate heaping ice cream sundaes for lunch. For dinner, I cooked frozen pizzas with extra cheese before we gorged on popcorn and candy as we watched a movie and the New Year bands jam on TV. They’re music nuts, so we had our own booty bumpin’ dance party. It’s fun building ourselves an ark of incredible memories. Ones we’ll remember for a lifetime.

I give Scarlett a lazy one-armed squeeze. “I’m gonna hit the hay, kiddos.”

“You mean you’re gonna read?” Roxie smirks, her eyes glued to the flat screen, a bowl of popcorn on her blanket covered lap. She and Scarlett are wearing these long flowy night dresses that Kade bought them for Christmas. They’re silky but made for children. No scooping necklines or any of that sexy, adult jazz. Nope. Just two fluffy shouldered gowns, one lavender and the other pale blue. Surprisingly, they didn’t fight over who got what. Scarlett took the lavender and Roxie the other. It was nice not having to referee.

“Yes. I’ve got a new book I wanted to try out tonight,” I reply.

“Is this another one of those motorcycle books you’ve been reading?” Roxie, too-smart-for-her-own-good, asks.

That’s the one thing that sucks about being a mom to eight and nine-year-olds. They’re too perceptive. Yesterday, I forgot to wear my A necklace. Both of them noticed and gave me hell. That’s another thing they’re adamant about—that we sport our necklaces as a family. Usually, they wear jewelry a day or two, break it, then I’m stuck tossing another chain or bracelet into the garbage. For whatever reason, these suckers have stood the test of time. Not that I’m complaining. It’s nice to carry a memento from the Asshole around my neck. Even if Roxie and Scarlett believe they came from a posh shop in Texas. When they asked me why I’d chosen the A, I lied and said that was the only letter they had left and I didn’t wanna be the odd man out. At least they’re not smart enough to see through that fat lie … yet.

“It’s a biker book,” I confirm with the incline of my head, even though she’s not paying a lick of attention to me. Some cute boy singer on TV is more important than mom. “You’re both welcome to stay up as long as you’d like. But no more pop—water, milk, or juice only. And please let me sleep in, in the morning. I don’t have to work,” I add, kiss Scarlett on the forehead, then go about my household duties before retiring to my room. The dishes get tucked into the washer. I wipe down the counters and throw empty cans in the trash. Yes, I know I should recycle. Don’t lecture me on that.

After I’ve tidied up, I give the girls one last goodnight kiss and retreat to the oasis that is my bedroom. It’s simply perfect—elegant. Just as it should be, since I designed it myself. The walls are the palest robin’s egg blue. The floor, dark hardwood. My favorite part is the bed and its coordinating furniture. It’s one of my few splurges. The bed frame looks like it belongs inside a beach cottage with its stark-white shuttered headboard and footboard. The armoire, which also serves as a hidden TV stand, nearly reaches the ceiling. It, too, matches the same shuttered beach theme. The dresser is much the same—long, white, and charming, with a million different drawers. Okay. Not a million. That’s an exaggeration, more like fifteen. Still, that’s a lot. It takes up an entire wall with a mirror adorning the top. Even the nightstands are all a part of the set.

Stripping down to my skivvies, I do what I do every night—slip under the silky covers, reach into my nightstand, toss my Kindle onto the empty side of the bed, and retrieve my secret phone from the bowels of the drawer. It’s hidden way in the back, kept on silent so the girls can’t hear anything. As I suspected, it’s bursting with texts. Most of them from Kade, and a few from Dad and Bear.

I read through them at warp speed and reply in kind. The majority are wishing us a Happy New Year and asking how the girls are. As for Kade, I’ve told Rox and Scarlett about him. Not that he’s their uncle. Just that he’s a guy I met in Texas and became friends with. I couldn’t very well give them those nightgowns and other gifts without placing a name to them, regardless of who they’re from. If I had to guess, I’d say most are from my dad and Bear. Nobody will cop to the popcorn tins, Barbie sets, or the twenty other gifts they sent. The girls know I’d never spoil them that much so I had to name a source. The safest one being Kade’s. Can you imagine how many questions my mother’s asked about him? Think of that number then multiply it by ten. She’s a nosy broad, that’s for cotton picken sure. And since I’ve returned, she’s been a hundred times nosier. Truth be told, I’m happy she had a date tonight with her new boyfriend so I could spend the evening just my girls and me. We don’t get to do that as much as I’d like. Not with them growing up so fast and me working all the time.

Another text buzzes through.

Kade: Sundaes for lunch, huh? Sounds like a blast!

Grinning at the smartass remark, I go to work on the keypad.

Me: Don’t poke fun, Dickcheese. We did have a blast. I’m sure they’ll be up half the night watching cute boys on TV.

Kade: They’re not allowed to like boys. Tell them Kade said so. And dickcheese? Really?

Me: They’re not going to listen to you if they don’t even listen to me. Scarlett and Rox both swear they have boyfriends already. And, yes, DICKCHEESE. It’s a new nickname. I hope ya like it.

Right before Christmas vacation started, Roxie came home from school with a sticker set from her so-called boyfriend. Scarlett was so jealous they ended up in a yelling match about whose boyfriend’s better. If that’s not proof enough that anything with a ding-a-ling is the devil incarnate, I dunno what is. ‘Cause nobody makes my daughters act like the crazy bitch from The Exorcist without having some kinda superpowers. They’re not typically that cutthroat. Petty sometimes, yes. But not downright aggressive. See, men bring out the worst in all of us. I blame it on the D. Ya can’t live with it, and ya can’t live without it.

Kade: Woman! My shit is circumcised, so I don’t have any dick cheese. I suggest you pick a better nickname unless you want me to start calling you watermelon tits.

I bark a laugh, shaking my head at his silliness, then remove my glasses, placing them on the nightstand. Snuggling deeper under my feather comforter, my arms rest over the edge, so I can text as the snow continues to coat the ground outside. If it doesn’t stop soon, the girls won’t go back to school in three days. That’ll be fun. What kid doesn’t love a snow day? However, my mom will be on babysitting duty. Not sure if her new beau is kid friendly or not. Guess we’ll find out sooner or later. Let’s pray he’s not as weird as the last creep, who had a habit of staring at me all the time. To the point that my mother noticed.

Me: Watermelon tits is a compliment. Not an insult. What kinda chick would be offended by that? How does Dirty Sánchez sound instead? For you; not me.

Pressing send, I can’t keep a straight face as I imagine the thoughts flipping through Kade’s inebriated brain at this very instant. Dirty Sánchez ... I’m sure he’s cracking the hell up.

I giggle, a smile transforming my face.

It’s twenty minutes ‘til their New Year, and by the text Dad sent, it sounds like they’re having one helluva bash. Not that I’m jealous or anything. I’m not. Even if I can’t stop my mind from wandering to things it shouldn’t—like Ryker and Vanessa being there, and how they’re getting along. I’m not rooting for them to break up. That’d make me a monster. No. I’m just … well … envious. There. I said it. After our heartfelt moment in the bathroom, I figured he’d communicate with me somehow, someway. Part of me desperately wished he would’ve driven to the airport to see me off. None of that happened, obviously. There’s been no texts, calls, or mail from him—aside from a pre-Christmas stack of crisp hundreds. He’s always sent a little more money around the holidays and their birthdays. This year’s no exception.

Kade: Haha! Fuck you! Dirty Sánchez is worse. I’m not into all that kinky shit.

Me: Just dick sucking? Them sucking you. Not the kinky Dad and Bear stuff.

Kade: Will you stop? Just talk to me like a normal person. Are you still reading those motorcycle club books you’ve been tellin me about?

What the heck is it with people caring what I read? I’ve read shifter books who fuck vampires and all kinds of deliciously dirty erotica. I’m a librarian for Christ sake. We’re supposed to read a great deal. Now, all of a sudden, people care what I choose to immerse myself in—namely biker books. Okay. So I’d only ever read Tillie Cole before I went to Texas, and since then I’ve binged a ton of MC authors: from AC Bextor, K. Renee, Autumn Jones Lake, Sapphire Knight, Lila Rose, and Kristina Canady, all the way to Kristen Ashley’s biker books. Which led me to her other series, and that Tatum Jackson guy is … a hunka-hunka alpha burnin’ love. Too bad they don’t make men like that in real life. Am I right?

Truthfully, I’m reading them so I can get a better perspective of what my dad’s life is like. Not that I can learn a ton from fictional stories. But, I’m willing to try. They’re entertaining, at the very least. With oodles of drama, and club whores, or sweetbutts, as some of them call loose chicks. I also learned that they refer to those vests they wear as cuts or colors. See, I’m educating myself.

Me: I’m reading one tonight. What’s it to ya?

Kade: All that romance bullshit is gonna rot your brain.

Me: All that alcohol you’re drinking is gonna give ya whiskey dick.

Which is likely a lie. He can probably get it up no matter what. I just like toying with the dickcheese. We have this kind of fun banter every time we chat. It’s our thing. It works for us. We’re like brother and sister, if you could find your sibling insanely attractive without it being incestuously gross. Guess it’s a good thing there’s no blood relation.

Kade: I’ll have you know I’m not drunk.

My fingers speed over the keys.

Me: Yet … is the apt word. Wouldn’t want to disappoint your harem tonight.

Kade: Jealous? And who the fuck says apt, unless you’re referring to apartment in short form?

Me: Jealous of your puny penis going in their vaginas? Ha. Ha. That’s funny. And apt is a perfectly acceptable word. You should try and read a book some time to expand that diminutive vocabulary. So what’s going on there anyhow?

The last thing I want to picture is Kade’s not-so-small dick in another person’s snatch. Not that he’s ugly. Like I said, he’s not. It’s the thought that creeps me out. When I said we’re like brother and sister, I wasn’t kidding. I’ve seen a woman deep throat his cock, and that was more than enough to process. Admitting he’s got a sexy body is one thing, dick watching is a whole different level.

Kade: Duly fuckin noted. Adding brain eating romance novels to my to-do list.

Me: Funny, Dickcheese! Now tell me what you’re doing before I give you a wet willie through the phone.

Kade: I surrender. I surrender. Not the wet willie! It’s the same shit, different party. Shootin pool. Drinkin. Lots of pussy to pick from. Pops had one of the chicks fix snacks, so we’ve got food. Nothing special. And I’m sure I know what you’ve been thinkin about. No. Ryker’s not here with Vanessa. She’s out with her girlfriends tonight.

Kade: (Image)

Gasping, I cover my mouth and stare at Ryker hunched over, seated on a folding chair in the corner of the room, elbows perched on his knees, head hanging low with a red cup loosely clasped between his sagging fingertips.

My heart clenches.

Me: Is he okay?

I’m not sure why I ask. It’s not like I’m supposed to care about the jackass. Albeit, it’s hard not to, when your mind screams you hate him as your heart says other things, officially sucking you into feelings purgatory.

Kade: I tried talking to him, but all I got were grunts. Pops dragged him over to shoot pool. That lasted a round before he gave up and took that chair again. He won’t talk to anyone, and that beer’s gotta be warm as hell.

Me: You think he’s missing Vanessa? That’s kind of rude to leave her husband on New Year’s. Who’s he gonna kiss at midnight? There’s only seven minutes until the ball drops there.

The few New Year’s we spent together we always celebrated at home. We had pancakes for lunch, watched a movie, and ate popcorn whenever the countdown shows started. Once the new year chimed, we made out for a whole minute, as a good luck charm of sorts, which led to a night full of passionate, toe-curling sex.

I squeeze my thighs together at the memory, reveling in the spark that engulfs my neglected clit. Unfortunately, I haven’t come in days. Mr. Showerhead or Mr. Hand are my only orgasmic tools at this time, so I make due whenever the itch arises. Since mine and Ryker’s little bathroom episode, I’ve been hornier than I’ve been in years, so those apparatuses have been working overtime. It’s pathetic, I know. Then again, a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do.

Kade: I don’t think he wanted her here. He’s been depressed. Pops is worried about him.

What?! Why hasn’t this been mentioned before? We hardly speak about Ryker. Sure, I wanna ask a million stupid questions but don’t. It’s irresponsible and does nothing for my overactive brain. The less I think about him, the better it is for everyone. If only my fingers and shower head would get the memo, because every time I’ve gotten off, it’s been to his face and that glorious body. Please don’t tell anyone else. I’m ashamed enough as it is. Trust me, I’ve tried superimposing The Rock’s face or Vin Diesel’s over Ryker’s, and nothing works. Yeah … I get it … I’ve got a bald man fetish. You can blame that on the Asshole, too. I know I do. Fucker.

Me: Why haven’t you said anything?

Kade: It’s not like we talk about him much.

Me: You told me what you got him for Christmas. You even said he brought mashed potatoes to the house that day, and that Dad and he didn’t fight. That they’ve been getting along a little better. You could have told me then, that he’s depressed.

Kade gifted Ryker a new knife for Christmas. He even had Sacred Sinners engraved on the handle and his name on the blade. With Kade’s knife obsession, it didn’t surprise me that’s what he bought his brother. The personalization I thought was sweet. He sent me a photo before tossing it into a used Christmas bag with no tissue paper or card. My inner elf went batshit when he told me that. Most presents deserve the tender love and care of being wrapped. Bags are for oversized and weird shaped gifts. Yeah. I know I’m a Christmas Nazi. I never said I was perfect. At least he had the decency to have the girls’ presents wrapped beforehand. From the looks of them, they were done by my father. He’s the only man I’ve ever known who could out wrap me. He’s so precise that he brings out the ruler and a fancy pair of sheers to get every angle perfect. That’s probably where I got my obsession from…

Shit…

I’m rambling, aren’t I? I am … I know it. This is what happens when I don’t wanna look down at my phone to see what else Kade has to say about Ryker and his feelings that I … once again … should give two fucks to the wind about. Perhaps, it’s this holiday season that has me overly sentimental. Who the hell knows? I just pray it stops, and soon.

Taking a deep breath, I glance down.

Oh goodie. Four texts…

Kade: Kat, this isn’t something you need to worry yourself with. He’s a grown ass man who did ya dirty. I shouldn’t have even sent ya that picture. I’m a dumbass. Just ignore him and move on. Find yourself a better man. Have you went on that date yet?

Kade: You’re ignoring me now, aren’t ya? I see how it is. You’re gonna make me cry. Here come the waterworks.

Kade: Happy New Year! :kiss emoji:

Kade: Please don’t be mad at me the rest of the night. I’m sorry. I didn’t tell ya about him because you don’t need to know. He’s made his bed and is lyin’ in it. His misery doesn’t need your company. I love my bro, but this is his own doing. You don’t need to deal with it. I know you think about him a lot. But ya gotta move on. Date that guy. You said he was hot. That’s one step in the dicking-you-good direction.

Uhhh! Why does he have to be such a loveable dumbass? One that knows how to make me smile and wanna cry in equal measure. I wish I could squeeze him right now. I could use a good hug.

Me: Happy New Years! You’re not crying, you big fucking baby. The only way you’d cry is if you’re looking for a sympathy fuck. And, fine, I suppose you’re forgiven. But you know I can’t help that I think about him. Not talking to him has made this time harder. Not easier. You’re right. I need to go out. I promise I’ll text Curt tomorrow and try to go on a date with him, but I’m not promising anything will come of it. And, there will be no dicking to speak of so get that outta your dickcheesy brain.

Kade: Fuck yeah! She forgives me. All is right in the world again! Except now I gotta go get me some pussy since all these assholes are too drunk and I don’t wanna babysit. Talk to ya tomorrow. Go read your brain rotting romance and forget about my brother. Later toots.

Me: Later, and make sure you wrap your package. We don’t need to worry about you knocking anyone up. I’m enough of a mess for the both of us.

Kade: You’re the sanest outta us two. Don’t worry, MOM, no glove no love. I don’t need any mini Kade’s runnin around til I’m ready for some.

Me: K. I’ll talk with ya tomorrow.

Kade: Tomorrow. And don’t forget to text Curt. :Tongue out emoji:

Me: I won’t, bossy Dickcheese.

Kade: Good, Watermelon tits.

Chuckling, I shake my head at our insanity. I’m not sure how I’ve lived without him all these years. He’s like the Clyde to my Bonnie. I love that silly man, and made a promise to him that I intend to keep… Even if I don’t wanna.

Curt, my daughters’, tall, lean, and nerdy, in a hot way, vice principal has had eyes for me since last school year. He’s asked me out more than a handful of times. It’s not like I won’t go out with him because he’s got four eyeballs and a hunch back. Actually, he’s sorta dreamy. I haven’t conceded yet because he’s my daughter’s vice principal and that’s like shitting where ya eat—you’re not supposed to do that. Except now, since I just agreed to take Curt aka Mr. MacIntyre up on his latest dinner offer.

The week before holiday break I dropped off Roxie’s gym shoes she’d forgotten at home. He’d been coming out of his office when the secretary took them. Needless to say, my three-minute drop-in turned into twenty because he bragged about how wonderful my daughters are, which led to a date proposal. Smooth, is the best word to describe him—since everyone knows buttering up a mother by telling her how fantastic her kids are is a surefire way to get what ya want. So I left the school with his business card tucked in my purse, which he handed me after scrolling his personal phone number on the back. I haven’t texted yet, and that won’t come ’til tomorrow. First, I’ve got a date with an extra yummy biker named Horse, who won’t break my heart, ’cause we all know book alphas rarely do that. If only real men were the same.

“Mom! I need a towel!” Scarlett yells from the bathroom as I sit on the edge of my bed, cell phone in hand. I’ve been staring at the darn thing for a good ten minutes. Curt’s number is glaring right back at me. This should be simple—call a man, tell him yes, and hang up. Easy, right? Not so much. I’m on the verge of a panic attack. There are a lot of things I can handle. Being on the receiving end of a man’s attention isn’t one of them. Not when the only person in my life I ever cared to have the attention of is more than a thousand miles away, obliterated my heart and is married for god sake. Gah! Why can’t I stop thinking about him? He looked really good over Thanksgiving, didn’t he? Bald, and those tattoos … whoa, baby … especially the one that’s forever burned into my retinas. You know, the dates. What does that mean, anyhow? Why am I obsessing over this? Why do I even care? Come on. Tell me. You’re supposed to be my friend. Kick me in the ass or something. Tell me to forget the asshole. I need an intervention.

“Mom!” she hollers again.

“There’s one under the sink!” I return, because if I get up now, I’ll never make this call. Plus, I just finished towels yesterday so there’s no reason why she can’t get out of the tub and grab one herself. She’s not two anymore. Not that I left her in the tub by herself when she was two. What kinda mother do you take me for?

“I’ll get the floor all wet!” she whines.

“Then wipe it up!”

“Mom! Please!”

Rox appears in my doorway, shaking her wild bedhead. “Mom, I can get it for her.”

“No, Rox. She can do it herself. It’s all of five steps.”

Roxie crosses her arms, leaning her shoulder against the doorjamb, yawning adorably. “I know, but she won’t stop complaining.”

“Yes, she will. When she gets cold and has to get her own towel.”

“Mom!” Scarlett screeches.

Oh, for the love of God. What’s her deal?

“Are you dying in there, Scarlett?!”

“No! But the water’s getting colder!”

I raise a brow to Rox in a silent version of I told ya so, and she smirks tiredly.

“Then I guess you’ll have to get out and grab a towel!”

Match point. I win. Mother, one. Daughter, zero. These are the lovely little games you must play to teach your children independence. They’re nerve grating, yet effective.

The growl that echoes sounds an awful lot like her father’s, when Scarlett shuts off the water and stomps across the floor, presumably to retrieve that dreaded towel. The slamming of the cupboard affirms my guess. Roxie giggles under her breath from the doorway as I smother my own chuckle from the bed. Scarlett must’ve woken up in one of her moods today. I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen her this morning. They actually let me sleep in like I requested. My guess is that she and her sister were up way too late, and no matter when she goes to sleep Scarlett can’t seem to stay in bed past seven. Hopefully, I can convince her to take a nap today. Lord knows we don’t need to deal with Ms. Diva’s attitude.

Rox pushes off the door frame. “I’m gonna go eat.”

I nod. “Okay. Please shut the door.”

Yawning once more, Roxie pulls my door closed just in time for me to hear Scarlett bitching up a storm in the hallway. They exchange a few bratty words, then quit before I need to intervene.

Flopping my back onto the mattress, I take a deep breath and press the call button. It’s now or never. I just hope I’m not waking Curt up from a killer hangover. Then again, he might not answer, and I’ll be off the hook.

He picks up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Erm, Curt, crap, Mr. MacIntyre, this is—”

“Ms. Remington.” There’s a smile in his voice. A smile! This is weird. Too weird. I pull the phone from my ear and stare bug-eyed at the screen. I should probably hang up, right? Yeah. I should. Hanging up’s a terrific idea.

“Hello? Katrina.” His voice carries, and it’s a nice one. Masculine. Not at all like Asshole’s, but friendly, less edgy. One that makes you feel safe and wanna suck his dick. Oh … My … God. I didn’t mean that.

“Katrina, are you there?”

Swallowing down a shot of nerves, I press the phone back to my ear and fake a ridiculous laugh. “Ha-Ha. Yeah. Sorry. I’m not sure how to do this.”

“Then let me make this easy for you.”

That sounds fantastic. I exhale a relieved breath, my stiff shoulders deflating. “That’s perfect,” I sigh.

“Happy New Year.”

Grinning awkwardly, I pull my legs into whatever they call Indian Style nowadays. Crisscross applesauce, is that the politically correct term?

“Happy New Year to you, too,” I reply, and for the next several minutes, we casually carry on about our holidays. It’s easy, and not at all panic-inducing. As our conversation navigates organically, his voice deepens slightly, more intimately, giving me enough courage to chat like we’re kids in high school again, without the sexual tension or pressure.

“I really like talking to you,” he remarks, and I crack a genuine smile, my eyes tracing the tiny fissures in the ceiling.

“I like talking to you, too.”

“Would you like to go out to dinner with me sometime?”

Twirling a piece of my hair through my fingers, I hold my breath. I can do this. “Sure. I’d like that,” I mutter timidly, insides fluttering.

“Next week, then?”

“Sounds great. Text me the details.”

“Thanks for calling, Katrina. I’ve been hoping you’d say yes for a long time.”

Fist pumping the air, I do a little wiggle, messing up my covers. “See ya soon,” I reply before I burst. Then as soon as I end the call, I belt a squeal of girly delight. I can’t believe I’m going on a date! I can’t believe I talked to a guy on the phone that long and there were no long awkward moments. Perhaps my life is looking up… Take that you backstabbing Asshole. This mama’s getting her groove back. I can’t wait to tell Kade about it later. He’ll be so proud of me.

Rolling the book cart down the aisle, I slip the next novel in its correct spot along the wall before moving to the next section. Our town isn’t the largest around, but we have a steady library flow. Which is nice; it makes my days go faster. My favorite part about working here, aside from the fantastic employees, is Tuesday and Thursdays children’s corner when I get to read a book to all our little bookwormies. Afterward, they check out a book for the week and have a snack. They left an hour ago.

“Girl, you don’t need to put those books away. I thought you were going home to get ready for your date with Mr. Hot Principal tonight?” Rea, one of my favorite coworkers, asks from the aisle over.

Pushing the cart out of the way, I slip into her row, only to catch Rea readjusting her big jugs for the tenth time today. Rea’s wife, Laura, has an addiction to fancy lingerie, and from the sounds of it, she insisted Rea wear a new lace bra to work. However, the thing is not a boulder holder, which is precisely what busty girls like us need. She’s spilling out everywhere.

Finished digging in the top of her blouse, Rea notices me. Blushing fiercely, she drapes her long, black hair across her slender shoulders. “Sorry about that.” Her fumbling hands smooth down the front of her pencil skirt.

Unfazed, I wave her off. “That bra needs to be burned. Tell Laura to get you something that actually fits next time.”

Rea’s flush intensifies, skipping down her neck and into the top of her shirt. “She locked my others in the safe this morning so I was forced to wear this one.”

“Did you tell her she’s being unreasonable?” Placing my hand on my hip, I tilt my head to the side, drifting into mom-mode. “Did you?”

Meekly, Rea shakes her head, biting her thumbnail, eyes cast downward. “No. But I’ll give her a piece of my mind when I get home tonight.”

Hiking my best Rock brow, I counter, “You’d better, or I will.”

Head snapping up, mouth agape, she finally locks eyes with mine. “No,” she whisper screams, mortified by the idea. “Laura will be so angry and make me wear the… Never mind…” Shaking her head again, she dismisses the thought.

To cut off her freak-out at the pass, I raise my hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay. I’m not going to pretend to understand your relationship. But I do know, regardless if you’re into that Fifty Shades stuff or not, you still need to wear proper undergarments at work.”

“Deal.” She nods once, a grin tugging at the corner of her glossed lips. “But I’m not gonna talk to her unless you skedaddle, and go on your date with the hot principal.”

At the mere mention of what’s to come, my shoulders slump, and a frown mars my face. I really don’t want to go. Not anymore. The more I think about it, the less exciting it seems and the scarier it becomes. “Vice Principal,” I mumble, as if semantics matter.

Stepping closer, Rea spins me around by my shoulders and swats my butt. “Go get your man.”

Digging my heels in, I refuse to budge. “What would a teacher at my children’s school want with a pregnant woman, when he could date anyone?”

This question has been weighing on my mind since New Year’s morning when I gathered enough courage to call him. He was thrilled to hear from me, and that’s nice. Yet, here I am, about to go on my first date in ages, and I’m dreading it. There’s not a single wonky butterfly fluttering in my belly, sweaty palms, or happy nerves like I felt with Brent. There’s only this sinking depression that feels like I’m closing another door and opening a damned window. How many times do I have to do this before I finally get it right? Kissing frogs is not my specialty.

Hands perched on my shoulders from behind, Rea gives them a squeeze. “You’re beautiful. You’re a catch. Any man would be lucky to have you. There doesn’t have to be some motive here, Kat. Just eat dinner and try to enjoy the company. What could it hurt?”

Dammit. I know she’s right. I have to treat this as a friendly dinner. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m not sure why I’m so uptight. It’s not like he’s asking me to marry him. It’s one date at a steakhouse here in town. In public where he couldn’t molest me even if he tried. Not that he would. I’m pretty sure schools frown upon that kinda behavior.

Exhaling long and hard, I blow out all my bad thoughts. I can do this. I can be just a woman, going on a date with just a man—simple. He is nice after all, and I do like the way he looks, and his voice is yummy. Those all tick the positive column.

Confidence renewed, I hold my head high, mouth a quick goodbye to Rea, and find my winter coat in the office before ambling down the front steps. The icy wind whips the sides of my face as I hug myself for warmth, shuffling through the fresh, ankle-deep snow to my car. At least the roads are still plowed. It’s a beast out here. The girls are loving it, though—no school.

Reaching in my pocket, I beep my car unlocked as a black figure registers in my peripheral. Snapping my head to the side, a squeal erupts from my throat at the same moment three masked men attack, pinning me to the side of my vehicle. Feet slipping in the snow, I grab onto one of their leather jackets and attempt to headbutt him. I don’t get very far when another man shoves a cotton bag over my head, pulling a drawstring. Then, all hell breaks loose. Forgetting that I’m pregnant, I react on instinct, using my four senses left to guide me. There’s a pained “ooaf” when my fist connects with someone’s stomach. Followed by a “fuck,” as my foot lands on what feels like a thigh. Frantically, I try to drag the case over my head as I defend myself. It’s futile. The drawstring on the end is so tight it nearly cuts off my air supply.

“Get her under fuckin’ control!” one man barks, right before a set of hands grab at my biceps. Fighting like a wild dog, I unleash my fists, elbows, feet—everything that I can use to connect with scraps of flesh. Profanities clog the air as I control my surprisingly stealthy body, refusing to admit defeat to these goons.

Seconds slip by like hours as they come at me—hands trying to pin me down, seeking a firm grip. Idle threats are launched into the air like clay pigeons. Not once do I back down. No way are these fuckers taking me without a fight. I don’t give a shit who they are. I’m not gonna give up. If they didn’t want me alive, I’d be dead already.

Quickly running low on steam, my gut screams for me to defend or flee. I can barely do either at this point as the frigid air burns my lungs, on the verge of freezing. I’m screwed.

Pausing too long to catch my breath, something that feels like a high-speed school bus hits me square in the chest, slamming my back against the side of my car, knocking the wind out of me, and stealing what little footing I have left. There’s a deafening crack as my head collides with a windowpane. Warmth blooms on the back of my skull.

Shit! I’m bleeding.

Stars dance in my vision as I scramble to right myself. It’s weak at best. I reclaim my stance, shaky fists up, ready to take on the world.

“You aren’t gonna take me alive, motherfuckers!” I hiss, my sight nothing more than a wall of white and foggy lenses. The tension on my throat cuts deeper. I’m barely able to draw air. If this doesn’t end soon, I’m gonna faint, and I can’t let that happen.

Foolishly, I wave them forward in a last ditch effort to whip their asses, even if my odds are slim. “Come on. Let’s do this,” I growl, voice made of steel.

Warm blood soaks through the back of my hair, cooling rapidly in the subzero temperatures. A residual ache radiates across my chest, thanks to whatever they hit me with. Likely a shoulder—a massive one. Drops of ice cold sweat drips into my eyes. I blink the sting away. Let’s do this!

“We can’t stay out here any longer. The cops are gonna show. Get her in the van. She’s not gonna give up,” a man says, chuckling under his breath in what sounds vaguely like respect.

“No! You do it. I think she busted my rib,” another grouses.

“Pussies,” the first man retorts, his voice growing closer.

Prepared to strike, I tighten my fists, itching to sock him as hard as I can. If I’m going down, so is this dipshit. Bring it on.

His form stops close enough that I can feel the warmth of his exhales, and the scent of musky cologne carries on the wind. Unfortunately, there’s too much distance I’d have to travel in order to connect cleanly. I can’t risk falling. These fur boots were made for fashion. Not practicality. My toes are already starting to numb as the slushy snow seeps into the fabric. I’d planned on wearing them for my date tonight, which doesn’t look promising.

“Katrina, I know you’re a brave woman, and willing to fight ‘til we gotta hurt ya. But I don’t wanna do that. I don’t like hurting women. Especially pregnant ones,” the first goon reasons.

“Coulda fooled me, shithead,” I snarl, which comes out more like a painful wheeze. A fog of darkness seeps into the edge of my vision, and my feet sway. To keep from falling, I lean against the car for support, one hand wrapped around my door handle, the other prepared to brawl. This isn’t good. The tightness around my neck feels like a knife’s trying to sever my body from its head—a dull guillotine.

“Let me take the bag off, Katrina. This doesn’t have to be any harder than it already is. You don’t want to injure yourself, do ya?” The man’s voice is abnormally soothing—deceptive. I’m not buying his crap for a fucking minute.

Inhaling a difficult lungful of air, I force out what I gotta say, “Sir … no offense, but you can go suck a big bag of dicks if you think I’m gonna go quietly.”

“Suit yourself.”

Before I can ask what the hell he means by that, my head swims as if I’ve held my breath for over a minute. A dark veil drops over my eyes. Then, I’m falling down a well, blunt coldness shocking my system as a frightening blackness welcomes me to the abyss.

With a thin blanket tucked around my waist, I glare at the metal door that separates me from the dickheads beyond. I’m a prisoner, held captive in what appears to be some sort of drafty warehouse. The walls are made of stacked cinder blocks; the floor chipped concrete. There’s a tiny window high up the wall that provides little sunshine. If it weren’t for the swaying light bar hanging from the ceiling, it’d be pitch black. The place smells cold and vaguely like grease. There’s no noise, apart from the eerie sound of wind whistling through the unsealed cracks. The temperature rests just above freezing, making my lungs protest with each inhalation. For umpteen hours, I’ve remained on this godforsaken circa WWII cot, curled into a dainty ball, trying to stay warm. The good news is my toes are so numb I can no longer feel them. Then again, perhaps that’s not something to rejoice in.

Hours ago, a day at most, I was taken by these men. I’m not sure how long I was passed out in the back of their van before I awoke with a bag still over my head, and my arms restrained in front of me, attached to cable ties that cut into my ankles. Fortunately, I was able to breathe freely, and the captors paid me no mind as they drove to our destination. It felt as if we traveled for hours, through turns and random bumps that jostled my tired body. But it could have been minutes. I can’t be certain.

When we arrived, my cable ties were cut, giving me the perfect opportunity to enact retribution using my feet. That lasted all of three seconds. One kick to someone’s knee and there was a knife pressed to my carotid. The fear of death is what propelled me through the cavernous building, and into the room I temporarily call home. There’s not much to look at here. They left a tin bucket in the corner with a roll of toilet paper. I’m ashamed to say I’ve used that disgusting thing twice. They also left a whole loaf of sliced bread and two bottles of water. If I were some badass Jason Bourne chick, I would have fashioned some sort of weapon or device to get me out of this dank hellhole. Regrettably, I might be able to defend myself, to a degree, but that’s as far as my talents go. There’s nothing else I’ve been able to do. I’ve yelled to no avail. Nobody has returned to talk to me. It’s as if I’m stuck here all alone, waiting for the executioner.

I shiver at the thought, rubbing my hands together to keep warm. At least they let me keep my jacket and clothes. I discarded my sodden shoes shortly after I arrived. They’re tucked in the corner. Hopefully, they dry out soon. I need them to keep my toes from getting frostbite.

Resting my head against the wall, I sigh inwardly, licking my chapped lips. This sucks. I have no clue what my captors want or what they expect me to do for them. Thank God my mom watches the girls after school, or on snow days. I’m sure they’re sick with worry. Fuck! I pray they didn’t go after them, too. What if they did? No. They wouldn’t. Right?

A ball of dread unfurls in my gut, making me twitchy.

“Hello?!” I holler for the hundredth time. The word echoes back at me, a sad reminder that nobody’s listening.

Maybe I should try to get some sleep to restore my energy. I’m going to need as much as I can for the road ahead. Something tells me it’s not gonna be pretty. Not if it has anything to do with what I think it does.

Holy hell! My face burns like molten lava. Tears well in my eyes that I refuse to let fall. I will not let these bastards get to me. They can try all they want, but I won’t break. Another flash of scalding pain slashes across my cheek as King Bastard slaps me, making my teeth rattle. My nose begins to bleed, dripping down my lips and off the tip of my chin, onto my torn shirt that’s hanging halfway off my ice-cold shoulder.

I spit a wad of mucus and blood toward his booted foot. It lands short.

Damn!

“You fucking, little bitch!” he roars. “You’re gonna tell me what I want to know!”

A hand wrapped around my throat woke me from a shivering slumber hours ago. The man hauled me out of bed and tied me to a chair in the middle of the room. My ankles are bound to the wooden legs, arms tied behind me. At first, he’d been polite, asking about my father, wanting to know where he was, testing to see what kind of info I would give him. I refused to say anything. So he tore half my clothes off, threatening to rape me if I didn’t talk. That didn’t frighten me. To rape someone, you have to be able to get between their legs and hold them down long enough to penetrate. I knew he’d either have to knock me out to accomplish this or have his men help. And let’s face it, guys like this douche nozzle don’t like asking for assistance to fuck somebody. At least that’s what my gut’s been saying. I’ve been listening to its subtle objections and guidance ever since I was brought here. That may sound weird. Then again, it’s rarely wrong. It’s gotten me this far. I’m not dead yet.

The big brute with two rotted front teeth paces, his heavy stomps ricocheting in the room. He cards a frustrated hand through his shiny black hair. It sticks up every which way. Not from product, but his lack of hygiene. Why they sent him here is beyond me. If they expect me to take him seriously, they should’ve sent someone more menacing than this. His floppy ears and too large nose make him look like a clown. His body’s fat; not muscled. Though I’m sure he could kick my ass if he tried hard enough. He’s lucky my arms aren’t loose because then I’d make it a fair fight.

Slapping his palm against the open metal door, he seethes in my direction, spittle flinging from his lips. “Why were you in Texas?”

“We’ve been over this. I was taking care of some business.”

“Bullshit! You were with the Sacred Sinners!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, and do it so well that the man, I can tell, wants to believe me.

Snarling, he punches the door, clearly exasperated by my lack of cooperation. “Listen, Kat. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Coulda fooled me. You’ve slapped me four times since you returned, and threatened to rape me as you tore off my clothes. If you were going for nice, then I’d hate to see you when you’re mean.”

I add the last to boost his ego as I fake shiver, making him sound scarier than he really is. He’s been rattling the same questions nonstop for hours. A while ago, he left when a man came to the door, and just returned with a dark gleam in his eye. Something tells me whatever he found out wasn’t in my favor. So a little ego bump never hurt anyone. Especially if that means he doesn’t beat me any more than he already has. My lip hurts like a mother.

The satisfied smirk he directs my way says my intended compliment was successful—idiot. “Just tell me where the money is, Kat. Or tell me where your dad is and where he hid the cash. Then we’ll let you go.”

Sighing, I close my eyes to keep from blowing up. This man has been droning on and on about some money my father stole from them when I was a teenager. It’s as if they think I know where it is. When, in reality, I don’t. Not that I’d tell them if I did. They can go suck a toe.

Reopening my eyes, exhausted and ready to lie down for a nap, I reply, “Listen, dude, I’ve already told you … Michael Remington is dead. I buried him when I was fourteen. And I have no idea about the money. That’s the truth.”

And it is. I’m just omitting the fact that my dad, Ghost, is very much alive. For all intents and purposes, Michael is deceased. There’s legal documents that state as such.

“I’ve given you a chance to change your story, Katrina. I’ve been patient, hoping you’d stop being a stubborn bitch. I don’t wanna do what my prez ordered. But you’ve given me no choice. I know you’re lying. The bitch we just brought in has already told us what we need to know.”

Stepping closer, his body looming over mine, my captor extracts a knife from his belt and holds it to my cheek, pressing hard enough to break the skin. I don’t move or make any noise. Staring straight ahead, I digest his words as my flesh screams in agony. Someone here’s fueling their wickedness. That doesn’t mean I’m giving in. I wasn’t raised to admit defeat. Do I wanna die? No. But I’d rather die a martyr than a rat. Who’s to say they wouldn’t kill me after I told them the truth anyhow? Not that they’d know the truth if it bit them in the nuts.

Grinding my teeth, air puffing from my nostrils at a maddening pace, I fight through the blinding pain. The tip of the knife drags downward, tearing deeper into flesh. The tears I can no longer withhold sting the cut upon their descent. Mashing my quivering lips together, I swallow hard to stifle a wretched scream.

“Huh,” the man murmurs, disengaging the blade and wiping my blood on his jeans before tucking the weapon away.

I exhale, relieved, my head slumping forward as my life force continues to trickle down my face.

“You didn’t scream. You’re tougher than I thought.”

Ignoring him, I stare at my lap, concentrating on breathing and my daughter, who’s decided to somersault in my stomach. She’s the only reason I’ve controlled my mouth this long. If I had it my way, I’d be cursing him up one side and down the other—consequences be damned. As he said, I’m a stubborn bitch. Like father like daughter.

“Now, Katrina, are you gonna tell me what I wanna know?”

Squeezing my eyes shut for half a second, I summon every ounce of strength I have left and lift my head. Across the room, the black-haired jerk is staring at me, a weird expression on his face—it could be a grimace or an ugly smile, I’m not sure which.

Tasting my lips, I clean the dried blood away, internally wincing at the cut I didn’t realize was there. “If—” I clear my throat, voice raw. “If the person you said was here told you what you wanted to know, then why do you need to keep harassing me for? Either you’re lying, or she’s not said a thing.”

Clenching his fist, he cracks his neck from side to side. “You want me to hurt you, don’t ya? You’re just askin’ for me to rape you. Why else would you be so fuckin’ stupid?”

Oh. That fucker just pushed the wrong goddamn button.

My temper flares to new heights, burning my last bit of sanity to dust. “Stupid? I don’t know what you expect me to tell you about some fictitious money. How many times do I have to reiterate that? And, furthermore, Mr. Ignorant, raping me is a choice that has nothing to do with what I say, and everything to do with sick minded men who think a woman’s actions are a way to justify their immoral ones. I’m not the problem here. You are. I have rights. I did nothing to you, or whatever boy-band club you’re a part of. Abusing a pregnant, defenseless woman is low, even for scum like you—who wouldn’t even know how to lick a pussy if it came with an instruction manual.”

There’s a deafening roar that vibrates through my chest an instant before the bastard lunges, slapping me so hard my face twists to the side and my world crumbles to blackness.

A throbbing headache is my welcome present when I finally come around. Everywhere screams in excruciating protest, all the way from my bare toes to hair follicles. I know, I know, you’re probably gonna say I was stupid for losing my temper. That I brought this upon myself. I should’ve been quiet. Am I right? I sure hope not. I hope you see this how I do. Sick men kidnapping a woman and expecting her to bow to their every whim. Well, as idiotic as this may sound, I can’t do that. I’m sorry. I just can’t. Judge me if you will, but no man should ever raise a hand to a woman, regardless if she insults him or not. My beaten face is a perfect example of that. I think he even knocked a tooth loose. Touching my tongue to it, it wiggles more than I care to acknowledge.

Chin to my chest, I feign sleep, doing my best to overcome the agony so I can eavesdrop on the men conversing in the hall. The blood rushing through my ears makes it difficult to hear.

“You knocked her out cold. Prez told you to scare her into submission. Not injure her. How do you think the Sacred Sinners are gonna react when they see you’ve cut her face?”

“They’re not gonna care as long as she’s alive,” Mr. Ignorant counters.

“Are you that dumb, motherfucker? Of course, they’re gonna care. Their club is five times bigger than ours. And, they’ve got support clubs. We don’t wanna go to war, Tanner. Prez just wants our money back, and Mike to pay for what he did. Not hurt his only daughter. That’s why we’ve been keepin’ tabs on her for so long, but never touched her. She’s an innocent in all this.”

“Like it matters. She’s just a woman. The other one’s who they want. We didn’t lay a finger on her.”

“Are you shittin’ me? Did ya forget what I told you?”

“The other is one of their old ladies, right? Bear’s daughter-in-law? Katrina isn’t any of those things. She’s expendable.”

Vanessa? They have Vanessa, too? She’s the one who ratted the club out? What’d she tell them?

A bolt of possessive anger slices through my chest.

How could she do that?!

The rational man growls his contempt. “You just cut Mike’s daughter’s face, you idiot. That Vanessa chick already told us that Kat and their prez’s son have kids. They might not be together anymore, but that don’t change the facts, dumb shit. That’s why she went to Texas to begin with. To get her ex back. I don’t know a man who’s gonna be cool with his baby’s mama gettin’ cut up. Do you?”

That rat is such a liar! I never went there for Ryker. I went there for my father.

“He’s gonna like it a whole helluva lot better if his pregnant old lady isn’t cut up, too. I’d be happy to give them matchin’ faces.”

“Shut the fuck up! She might be a feisty cunt, but you’re not fuckin’ this up for us. They agreed to a trade. So you’ve got twelve hours to clean up her face before we meet! Ya got me?”

“I will do no such thing. She can sit in that chair and rot for all I give a fuck.”

I flinch at the sincerity of his words. He’s pissed that I insulted him. Yeah, well, I’m pissed he tied me to a chair and pulverized my face. We’re not even close to being even.

They carry on for a few, arguing about who’s gonna tend to my face. Then they chat more about Vanessa and how she’s been sobbing like a baby, willing to tell them whatever they want as long as they don’t hurt her. They laugh, finding it hilarious that she’s so pathetic. My nostrils flare in agitation at the thought. She’s weak. She just told them what they demanded to know without batting an eyelash. She sold me downriver with her half-truths and bullshit. And here I wanted to be sympathetic to her. To be the bigger person. Screw that. I’m no longer gonna play nicey nice to that traitorous woman, regardless if she’s Ryker’s lover or not. My sympathy disintegrated the moment Tanner sliced into my face like a piece of filet mignon.

Minutes later, Tanner stomps back into my room in a less foul mood. I remain motionless, my breathing steady. I even drool a little to sell my unconsciousness. I can’t risk him knowing I overheard his conversation. That wouldn’t bode well for me, or my poor face. He seems to enjoy hitting females. I just pray that Tanner will leave me alone until the meet, whatever that entails.

Ryker

Anxiously shiftin’ from one foot to the next, my ridin’ boots pulverize the snow under their heels. I flick the bark on the tree next to me to keep from losin’ my shit before our fuckin’ plan’s set in stone. I’m royally pissed. Hell. That’s not even the right goddamn word. Murderous is more like it. Yesterday, we got a call from a rival club, barking demands like they’re hot shots holdin’ all the cards. They can pretend they’ve got it locked up tight all they want—that their plan to get money and Ghost is foolproof. That’s laughable, ‘cause we’re about to put them six feet under for fuckin’ with my family. The sack of shits took my woman right outside her work, then kidnapped Vanessa, straight from her trailer. I’ll bet ya fifty bucks that she’s crying like a little baby, beggin’ them to release her. That’s how she rolls. Whiny as fuck. All the time yapping her gums about this, that, or somethin’ else. It’s been a million times worse since the love of my life stumbled back into my world over Thanksgiving.

Have ya ever felt like you were dead inside and only went on with life for the sake of others? That’s been my existence since the moment I returned to the club, leaving Kat and my daughters behind. I’ve been a miserable fucking bastard.

Years later, after countless faceless bitches have slept in my bed, Vanessa comes along, hangin’ at the clubhouse every weekend, always followin’ me around like a lost puppy. Don’t get me wrong. She’s cute in her own way. Some men would say she’s smokin’. Not me. She doesn’t have curves where I like ‘em, and I’ve got a soft spot for blondes. Suffice to say, she’s not my type.

Bet you’re wonderin’ why I married her then. I’m gettin’ to that.

One night, after watchin’ a surveillance video of Kat outside her house with our daughters, I got sloshed and desperately needed to drown my sorrows balls deep in random pussy. Apparently, Vanessa was there. I don’t remember takin’ her back to my room at the clubhouse, or bangin’ her brains out. It wasn’t until the next mornin’, when she was sprawled next to me in bed, butt ass naked, cum coverin’ the sheets, that I realized what I’d done. Freaking the hell out, I got dressed and disappeared before she woke. Then avoided her at every pass. Weeks later, she came cryin’ to me, sayin’ that I knocked her up. Kade begged me to get a DNA test before I believed anything. But what was I gonna do? Let another one of my kids go without a dad? I couldn’t do that. Not when I could be in this one’s life. It’s not like we hadn’t fucked. I knew the likelihood of Vanessa carryin’ my baby was high. I’ve got some badass Viking swimmers. How else can ya explain Kat gettin’ pregnant so easily?

In a fit of selfish desperation, the week before we were scheduled to get married, I flew to Indiana to see Kat one last time. To say my final goodbye and let the years of endless heartache go. Only that half-assed plan backfired big time. I should’ve guessed that would happen, but I was too strung out to think straight. Seein’ my little Tiger was like breathin’ life back into my heart and lungs—every orifice of my body was renewed with this wonderful fuckin’ feelin’ I’d thought was dead, buried alongside my questionable morals.

Overcome by years of repressed emotions, we made love on the patio table in her backyard. It was so fuckin’ beautiful watchin’ her writhe beneath me that I almost cried like a bitch. Leavin’ her house all over again was worse than the day I’d left to begin with. On the flight home, the pain ate away at my insides, hollowing out this rotted shell once again. For a brief moment, I knew what it felt like bein’ alive, with her. Only her. Then it was stripped away, along with my future, when I drunkenly said I Do to a woman I could never love. Trust me, I’ve tried to for the sake of our unborn child. It ain’t easy fakin’ affection, when the woman you’re married to turns your stomach. Sure, Vanessa has her moments when I can tolerate her. Most of the time, though, I regret tryin’ to do right by her. Even if it felt like the responsible thing to do. And if I’m honest, it still does.

After a few months of marriage, I eventually came to terms with life. It was a shitty existence, sure, but the promise of becoming a father again lightened the load. Not that I could ever forget Roxie or Scarlett.

Cue the day Kat unexpectedly walked back into my life, seein’ me for the man I really am, in my element, baring the mountains of lies I spoon fed her for the sake of her safety and the club’s. My name bein’ the biggest lie of them all. One look at her beautiful, devastated face while she curled up on the floor and that ethereal sense of life came floodin’ back—like it always does when she’s present. That shell of a man is gone for good this time, and in his place is me—a pissed off motherfucker about to disembowel these rival pieces of shits for kidnapping the woman of my dreams. The only one who fuckin’ owns me. Whether she realizes that or not, it doesn’t matter. I’d sell my soul to the devil to kiss her one more time. Tonight means war.

“Dude.” Kade shoves my shoulder, ripping me from my vicious thoughts.

Curling my upper lip, I snarl, pushing him back. “What the fuck do you want?”

Shaking his head, Kade rolls his manic eyes. If the moon wasn’t hanging low and bright tonight, I wouldn’t be able to make out his attitude. It’s just as foul as mine. We’re both riding on razor’s edge, dyin’ to get Kat and Vanessa to safety. Nix that. My brother doesn’t give a damn what happens to Vanessa. Kat, on the other hand, he’s about to kill for—literally. The man’s lethal with knives. Add him being more pissed than I’ve ever seen him, and I’m certain it’s gonna be a bloodbath. I can hardly wait.

“The tracker’s still pickin’ up signal in there.” Gunz, the sergeant-at-arms of the Sacred Sinners mother chapter, flicks his chin toward the building a hundred yards behind us.

We can’t see it through the dense tree cover, but we know it’s there. We’ve been freezing our asses off, scouting this place for the past two hours, preparing our attack as we wait for the last of our reinforcements to arrive. Nearly all of them are here and in place. It’s almost time to rock and roll.

Big Dick, our national prez, checks his phone, giving a small nod. “Bear’s in place outside their clubhouse.”

My cell vibrates.

I tug it from my pocket as Kade lingers nearby, pacing and playing with two of his knives.

Pops: You don’t leave there without our girl. Protect her first. That’s an order.

As if he’s gotta tell me that. If I wasn’t already hell-bent on gettin’ her back, Kade would kill everyone anyhow, so it wouldn’t matter if I’m here or not. An enraged brother isn’t good for any of us. He may seem friendly on the outside, smiling all the damn time, way more chill than I am. But he’s a sick, sadistic motherfucker—a loose cannon. And his crazy flag only flies when he gets like this. His emotions rule him a hundred times worse than Pops or mine ever have. Which is like sending a savage, untrained pit bull hopped up on crack into a fight. All you can do is thank God that your blood isn’t on his mind, then watch the horror unfold.

“Are we gonna go or what?” Kade grumbles, slicing one of his blades down a tree, chipping off bark.

Big takes Kade off to the side, whispering something to him as Gunz continues messing with his techy shit, and Casanova, our shooter from a nearby support club, readies his 308 rifle with suppressor to take down the two fuckers manning the warehouse entrance. His prez, Sniper, is covering the rear, where two more men are stationed.

I text Pops back.

Me: She’s my woman. I’m gonna protect her. You don’t need to tell me what to do, old man. We’ve got this.

Pops: You better. Cuz Ghost won’t stop textin to see if we got her yet.

Me: It was your choice to leave him at home.

Leaving him at home isn’t precisely what went down. Pops tied him up and locked him in the basement cellar with two brothers to keep watch. It’s gonna take a while for Pops to convince Ghost not to cut his balls off. That man’s gonna be in the doghouse for a long damn time. Not that I blame either one of ‘em. It was a hard choice to make. One that Pops decided without Ghost’s input. You don’t do that to your VP. Not ever. There’s gonna be some harsh backlash for pullin’ major rank. And, this time, I’m gonna be takin’ Ghost’s side. He deserves to be here just as much as the rest of us. Unfortunately, Pops couldn’t see past his damn emotions to let that happen.

Pops: Don’t give me that shit! It was for his own good.

Me: Says you.

Pops: I take care of what’s mine.

Me: So do I. So why don’t ya go and take care of your business while I take care of what’s gotta be handled here.

Pops: Fine. But if so much as one hair is harmed on her head, I’m burnin all of their motherfuckin clubhouses to the ground!

Me: Take a number. We’re all goin apocalyptic if she’s been hurt. No more of this small time bullshit.

Pops: Agreed. Be careful, son. And do me a solid. Make sure Kade doesn’t lose his mind. He’s torn up enough about this.

I glance over to Kade, who’s pacing fast, his blue eyes wild, knives twirling skillfully in his fingers. Big’s keeping a close watch on him as he talks to Gunz about some logistics that I’m paying no attention to. If it were up to me, we woulda infiltrated that building and slaughtered those cocksuckers hours ago. But we couldn’t go in without everything bein’ in place. We’ve got men stationed in the woods on all four sides of the warehouse, plus on the roadways a couple miles down. I’m certain these dumbasses figured nobody could catch a beat on their location, seein’ as though the closest town isn’t for thirty miles. Guess that’s what you get for bein’ stupid, and ill-prepared. My necklace tracker works like a charm. Just as it should, since Gunz hired out the job to someone he trusts in Texas so I could get those beauts for Katrina and the girls within twelve hours of makin’ the call. The A wasn’t my first choice. I’d been hopin’ for a K to go with her name, but seein’ as though she thinks I’m an asshole, it was sufficient. At least she’s wearing the thing. If not, I dunno how we woulda found her or Vanessa. We should’ve predicted this was gonna happen after that man rolled through town just days after Kat left. Pops said not to worry about it. That he had it handled. Looks like he didn’t have shit, now doesn’t it? ‘Cause if it weren’t for me, she’d be like tryin’ to find a needle in a goddamn haystack. Kade would have to be tranquilized for goin’ insane, while I went on a rampage through the entire US tryin’ to find her. It’s a good thing I did what I did. They’ll all be kissin’ my ass for it later.

“Ryker.” Gunz waves me over, pointing to something on the tablet in his hand.

Casanova drops a black duffle on the snow next to my foot, which grabs my brother’s attention. He ambles closer, but not too close. There’s no way he can stop playin’ with his knives at a time like this, and if I know him like I do, he’s worried about hurtin’ somebody undeserving—namely his club brothers. The man’s about to snap.

Gunz points to the colorful heat signatures on the screen. “We’ve still got two men out front, and two in the rear. I’ve been hopin’ someone would come outside to change posts. But it looks like we’re goin’ in blind. My tech isn’t strong enough to travel through the tin roof.”

Big claps him on the shoulder. “Ya did good,” he praises, thumbing away on his phone. Then adds, “We’re all set. It’s show time.”

Crouching, Casanova passes us night vision goggles from inside the bag. “You’re gonna need these once we cut the power.”

Placing mine on top of my head, I watch my fellow brothers follow suit, readying themselves for the fight we’re anxiously waiting for.

Big Dick yanks a black bandana out from inside his cut and ties it around his head before fixing his low ponytail that falls in the middle of his back. Kade opens his vest, double checking his personal arsenal of throwing stars and knives in a variety of shapes and sizes. He isn’t packin’ a single firearm. That’s not his style.

Gunz, who’s sitting this one out, works on his tablet, his determined breath fogging the cold air around the sucker stick that’s poking out from his lips. Grunting, he stabs the screen with his finger.

“May God be with ya.” Cas tips his imaginary hat in our direction, making eye contact one-by-one before he carts his rifle and wool military blanket through the forest, closer to the warehouse to set up his scope for the kill shots.

Patting my jeans pocket, my brother’s Christmas gift lays heavy against my thigh. It was the first present Kade has given me since before I left to spy on Katrina. He might not voice it aloud, but over Christmas, it felt like an understanding passed between us. I attribute that to Kat and the way she touches people. She has an uncanny gift that somehow bonded our club more than ever before. I’d go as far as to say she was the missing piece all along. ‘Cause I damn well know she’s been mine.

“Sniper and Cas are in position,” Gunz announces, and we all take deep breaths at the same moment, eyeing one another, accepting that this may very well be our last minutes whole. Going to war with a rival is nothing any club wants, but it’s something that must be done to protect our own. We all know and respect that. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t be the Sacred fuckin’ Sinners. We live for this shit.

I walk up to my brother and clap him on the shoulder. “We got this.”

“We better, ‘cause I’m gettin’ real fuckin’ twitchy here, Ryker. I need to cut somethin’.” Kade shuffles backward for my protection. His left eye twitches and hands tremble, driving him closer to the brink of no return.

“Don’t worry. You can bleed ‘em all. Just give us five more minutes, brother,” Big interjects, and Kade nods once, the deep crease between his brows affirming his trepidation.

Collectively, we drop our night vision goggles in place and my adrenaline skyrockets, dampening my forehead as my fingers twitch, eager to maim these bastards.

Silently tracking through the woods, we spread out until we come to the edge of our cover. Pressing my chest to the bark of a tree, hidden mostly behind the trunk, I observe the two clueless patrols. Kade stops next to a tree a few yards away. Our gazes lock for a flash, and we lift our chins in respect, then turn our sights back to the men who are dressed in all black, aside from the patches on their shitty designed cuts.

I hold my breath, waiting … waiting … waiting…

Jittery, I dig the knife out of my pocket and flick it open. My nostrils flare in irritation, and I grit my teeth as one of the bastards lights a cigarette. The cherry glows mockingly under the moonlight.

Waiting … waiting ... I squeeze the knife handle in my palm until my knuckles scream in protest.

Protect. I need to protect her, and this is taking too damn long.

There’s a muffled blast that cuts through the chilled air a millisecond before Mr. Smoker drops to the ground like a sack of shit. The man to his right barely has a second to register what’s happening before he’s dropped, too. Then we’re on the move. Kade and I rush through the gravel lot as quietly as we can just as two more muffled blasts echo through the night sky.

Hell yeah! We’re in the clear. Let’s do this.

Big Dick’s right on our tail as we reach the only entrance, ignoring the two dead fuckers lying in a puddle of blood, a hole blasted through the center of their skulls. Carefully opening the door, I usher Kade inside first, knowing his taste for blood is worse than mine—not by much. There’s a flicker of light when we enter before everything goes dark. Vanessa screams and keeps on screaming from somewhere deep in the bowels of the building. No sound is heard from my woman. For a beat, my heart locks in panic.

Keep your head in the game, Ryker. She’s stronger than Vanessa. She’s gonna be alright.

My pep talk is short-lived when two men round the corner, frantically searching for a light switch. Kade and I bark demonic laughs, and then it’s on like Donkey Kong. My brother takes the man closest to him as I sink my blade into the neck of the asshole feet from me. He doesn’t know what hit him when he reaches for the wall and his gushing neck wound at the same time. I smile in triumph, watching the blood rush down the front of his shirt and the life drain from his eyes. He slumps into a heap on the floor, dead within seconds.

That’s right, motherfucker! That’s what you get for messing with what’s mine!

Suppressing the urge to kick his body, I seize my brother’s arm instead, tearing him away from his sliced up kill. Kade slips the dude’s eyeball from the tip of his knife, tossing it to the floor with a demonic smile.

“That felt great,” he whispers excitedly.

I nudge him with my shoulder. “We’re not done, yet.”

Deeper, we travel into the empty warehouse. Big’s nowhere to be found. The scent of ice and crude oil abraids my senses, as puffs of our breath fogs the air in front of us, worrying me further. Kat has been here for at least a day, and it’s bitter cold inside. She has to be freezing.

Penetrating fear about her and our daughter’s well-being has me moving faster. From around a corner, three more men come at us at once, more prepared than the last idiots—by a little. My fist connects with the first one’s face, and there’s a definitive crunch under my knuckles. I barely feel a damn thing. Thank fuck for adrenaline. The other guy nearly stabs me in the gut, but I turn at the last second, tossing him toward his friend like a sack of flour. They crash to the ground in a pile of limbs as Kade plays demonic jack-o lantern carving with the less fortunate man.

My brother’s toy shrieks in agony.

“Now, now. Be a good boy and sit still. Mother wants herself a pretty pretty boy.” Kade cackles, the sound sending an eerie chill up my spine.

“No! Please! No!” The man begs, and Kade’s laughter surges.

I told ya he’s a sick fuck.

Dumb and Dumber finally scramble to their feet, and I decide I don’t have time for games. I take no pleasure in torturing people, anyhow. I need to find my little Tiger soon.

Out of nowhere, the bigger man with goofy ears pounces, swiping his blade across my stomach, tearing through my shirt and grazing my abs as the other attempts to secure my arms. That’s gonna leave a mark.

Guess these two assholes are used to working as a team. They’re probably the same sickos who kidnapped my woman to begin with.

“Which one of you abducted Kat?” I hiss, shoving the grabby douche away. He stumbles to the wall like a drunken fool.

“We all did,” the knife yielding dipshit says an instant before my vision blurs to red.

Roaring in fury, my inner monster tears to the surface. There’s cracking of bones and slices of human meat gushing blood as my Christmas gift sinks into warm, soft flesh on the way to the floor. Warm crimson splashes my face, and I spit to keep it from going in my mouth.

“You stupid motherfuckers, you don’t know who you’re fuckin’ with!”

My knife sinks to the hilt in some part of flesh, and the man under my blade doesn’t move. Kneeling over him, I kick the body. Nothing. Dead. So I focus on the other man, who’s still squirming, trying to crawl away, streaking a ruddy trail of blood behind him.

“No. No. No. Asshole. You don’t get to fuck with my woman and live.” I step on his retreating ankle until I hear a snap under my boot heel and he wails in pain. Kade laughs his delight, watching me work.

The guy freezes in place, sobbing. “I’m so sorry. We didn’t mean to hurt her. I told him he shouldn’t have done it.”

Stalking up his prone body, I kneel, resting my knife against his throat. “Do what?” I growl, shaking with so much rage I might explode. If they so much as—

“Fuck!” Big thunders from somewhere nearby. “Ryker!”

My heart fucking drops, blood turning ice-cold.

Kade’s by my side in a flash, finishing the job a second before I shove off the floor in a dead sprint.

Kat

Curled into a ball, shivering, stinging tears streaming down my face, I stare in horror at the monster lurking inside my cell. He’s huge. The faint glow of moonlight seems to hit him just right from the small window. It’s like a scene from a movie, where your murderer loiters in the corner, seconds before he ends your life. Vanessa’s screaming isn’t helping matters. I know I said I don’t wanna die, but I’m too exhausted to fight. There’s no food or water left. I haven’t eaten in what feels like days. Blood is crusted across my face, and the swelling is so bad I can barely pry my eyes open. I want to cry harder and beg for mercy—but I’m too strong to admit they’ve done what they came to do. They broke me. That one, ugly man … he … he hurt me. Not from the slapping or the cut. I can take the physical pain. I’d gladly take that. No. The sicko groped my breasts and slid his dirty, abrasive fingers inside my pussy minutes before he cut me loose with a perverted snicker. I’ve been through a lot in my life. Just not that. I’ve never been violated in that way. I can endure a great deal, but I can’t take any of this much longer. I’m so, so very tired. All I wanna do is sleep, but can’t. It’s grown colder, my clothes are nearly destroyed, and if I lay my head on anything, my body cries in agonizing protest. My daughter hasn’t moved in hours. I’m worried to death about that, and the sad questions that have been churning in my head. How are my girls going to survive without a mother? How will they grow up? Will they remember me? My mom isn’t equipped to take care of them full time. I can’t believe this is happening.

“Katrina?” My executioner queries, his deep voice deceptively serene. If he wasn’t here to kill me, I might even call it sexy. I’ve always had a thing for gruff, manly voices.

“What do you want?” I whisper hoarsely, head tucked down, sucking back a shameful sob.

“Are you alright?”

Why does he care?

Glancing up, where he can fully see me, and I him, he gasps, then growls so ferociously it penetrates my chest. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Fuck!” he bellows. “Ryker!”

“What … what are you talking about?”

Why is he mentioning Ryker? This isn’t where the meet is. I know that much.

“I’m not here to hurt you, Katrina. I’m Big Dick, a brother of your father’s.”

Hey, I know that name.

Exhaling a sigh of relief, shoulders deflating, the lights flicker back on, casting an eerie glow over the room and the biggest man I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I had no idea they made men that massive!

I gulp.

“You’re—” The words die on my lips when a winded Ryker darts into my room and stops three feet from the cot, dripping blood on the floor.

A sticky ball of nerves shoots up my throat.

Jesus. I hope that’s not his blood.

Shuffling myself forward, gritting through the pain, I move to get off the cot and check him for injuries. I freeze mid-movement when Ryker falls to his knees, hands threaded behind his bald head. “Fuck!” he howls heavenward. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Kade dashes through the doorway, coming to a screeching halt beside Big Dick. All of their eyes settle on me. I must look worse than I thought. I try not to care, and fail miserably. It’s going to take forever for my face to heal. And if I’m being realistic, some of it’s gonna scar.

“Oh, Kat.” Kade’s bloody face drops, sadness soaking his words. I frown, and it hurts, so I stop, deciding it’s better to keep everything neutral.

“Are you all okay?” I ask, hanging my bare legs off the side of the bed.

Wordlessly, Big removes his cut and hangs it on the door handle, then tears his clean hoodie over his head, leaving him with a black t-shirt underneath. He steps forward to hand it to me like a gentleman, but doesn’t get far when Ryker sneers over his shoulder, ripping the offering from Big’s grasp.

“Thanks,” Ryker rumbles, and Big inclines his head in some sort of macho understanding, their gazes briefly locking.

Ryker stands with a grunt, approaching my bedside. I cup myself between my legs to maintain an ounce of dignity. He glances over his shoulder. “Privacy. Now,” he commands, and the men obey without question.

“I’m gonna call for transport,” Big Dick notes from the hall.

“And I’m gonna go release the screaming banshee,” Kade grumbles, making me wanna smile.

I almost feel sorry for the guy. She’s been noisy on and off for hours upon hours. After a while it grates on your last nerve. Shouldn’t Ryker be tending to her anyhow? He could leave Kade here with me. I’d like that. Pretty sure that’d be less confusing, since my body’s uncertain of how to react around Ryker, and my mind, let’s not talk about that. It’s a mucked up mess.

Ryker rests on one knee in front of my cot, his body heat tempting me to wrap my arms around him and hold on forever. Or perhaps that’s another part of me wanting that. I can’t be sure. I’m too drained to care.

“You’re covered in blood.”

Carefully, I touch his crimson spattered cheek. The warmth sparks beneath my frozen fingertip. Tossing the hoodie onto his shoulder, Ryker tenderly pulls my hand from his face, then reaches for my other. Bringing them together, he cups them in his big mitts and blows hot air across my icy flesh. I sigh in pleasure.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Ryker whispers, laying a kiss upon my folded hands as he rubs his around them, creating delicious friction. A dormant butterfly takes flight in my belly from all the attention. “So, so, fuckin’ sorry.” His dejected tone slays me. “Are you alright? Fuck. No, you’re not alright. I … fuck…” His eyes pinch shut, forehead creasing.

“I’ll be okay. You didn’t do anything wrong, this time,” I reply, aiming to reassure him as my heart pounds violently in my chest. I still can’t believe he’s here. How did he find me? What are we going to do now? What happened to the men who kidnapped me? By any indication of his coloring, I’d say they were sent to Hell, where they belong. Surprisingly, I don’t feel guilty about that. It’s kinda flattering that he … you know … did what he had to do. That they all did.

The excited screech of Vanessa’s release travels through the building. I try not to cringe at the loathsome sound, so my face doesn’t hurt worse. However, I fail when the woman brazenly bounds into my cell and stops feet from Ryker, her unscathed face screwing into a scowl.

“What the hell?” she hisses, looking from Ryker to me and back again.

Three aching heartbeats pass as I wait for him to stop rubbing my hands and go to her. He doesn’t. If anything, his mitts massage warmth back into my extremities at a quicker pace, gently moving to my wrists, then forearms. He stops at my biceps when he sees me flinch. His lip curls cruelly over his teeth, but no sound comes as he retreats to safer areas.

“Ry-ker?”

Jeez, Vanessa swings from whiny to bitchy quicker than you can spell Mississippi.

For whatever reason, he outright ignores her. I know I shouldn’t admit this, but a small sliver of my soul is pleased about that. Even if another portion feels immensely guilty that he’s aiding his ex while his wife stands here in wait. Nonetheless, I choose to focus on the satisfaction. I’m sick of feeling guilty, or ashamed, or anything other than happy. After the week I’ve had, I deserve a little joy in my life.

The long-haired mammoth they call Big Dick sticks his head through the doorway. “Transport’s here,” he says, then pauses a beat, waiting for recognition. When nobody comments, I take point.

“Thanks, um, Mr. Big … um, Dick, who didn’t kill me.”

I cross my legs, acutely aware of my lack of panties. I guess I forgot to mention that the bastard who assaulted me stole my coat and boots out of spite, after tearing my underwear to shreds. I’m trying not to dwell on it. It’ll do me no good. I’ve cried once—okay, twice. That’s enough tears shed.

“You can call me Big.” He returns a friendly wink. I want to smile back, yet think better of it for the sake of my fat lip. Instead, I nod once—grateful.

Vanessa rubs her arms, casting a flirty glance toward Big, clearly not a fan of being overlooked. “You wouldn’t happen to have a coat, would you? It’s cold in here.” She fake shivers.

Do you see this shit? Who does that? The woman has a long sleeve shirt on, boots, and gloves. And those look like an expensive pair of boots to me. What do you think? I bet Ryker bought them for her.

For a second, I wonder if her antics will win Big over. It would a lot of men. She’s beautiful and pregnant. Whereas I’m over here looking like my very own heifer version of Hatchet Face.

Shaking his head in disgust, Big glowers, nostrils flaring. “I wouldn’t give you a coat, even if I had one.” He points a stern finger in her direction. “Quit actin’ like a prissy bitch and get your ass in the truck.”

Vanessa opens her mouth to argue, but closes it a second later when Big swallows up the door frame, tall and terrifying. Ryker’s too busy rubbing my arms, lost in his head, that he pays no mind to the stare down that transpires between his national prez and his wife. She sputters an objection under her breath before stomping out of the room, cursing Ryker’s name in vain.

Big winks at me once more, then turns and leaves us.

I really like him, even if he intimidates the crap outta me.

“If you need anythin’, Watermelon tits, I’ll be outside,” Kade says out of nowhere.

Lordy, that nickname stuck.

“Uh ... thanks, Dickcheese,” I respond, hiding my amusement.

A chuckle resonates from the hallway.

Turning my attention back to Ryker, who’s furiously trying to warm my skin, his damp, red-ringed eyes stare blankly ahead—level with my breasts.

“Ryker?” I mutter. He doesn’t stop or acknowledge me in the slightest. “Ryker?” I try again. Nada.

Something’s going on inside his brain. This happened once before, after we’d had a fight. He spooned me all night long, never sleeping, as his fingers absentmindedly caressed me well past sunrise. I could sense his mind working on overdrive then, just as it is now.

On a downward stroke of my arm, I tug that one free from his grasp and snatch the hoodie off his shoulder. Ryker’s body jolts aware, and he blinks rapidly, snapping back to the present. He looks around the room before releasing my other arm so I can slide Big’s hoodie on. It’s not without a twinge of pain, but the immediate warmth is moan-worthy.

I groan in relief.

The little treasures in life are never to go unnoticed. I will forever worship hoodies, even if they make me look like a blimp.

There’s a faint tumble in my belly, and I want to cry with joy.

She moved! She finally moved!

Thank God for miracles.

“Vanessa left?” Ryker enquires, brows pinched in concentration.

I cup my stomach, feeling her tumble again. “Ya don’t remember?”

“I remember feelin’ like I was about to lose my fuckin’ shit when she walked in, slingin’ attitude. Then nothin’.” His palms cup my knees, as if he can’t go without touching me. Of course, that’s a ridiculous notion. He’s just concerned about my well-being, which is strangely fulfilling.

“When was the last time ya slept?” I ask.

Ryker shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Stop worryin’ about me. We need to get ya outta here. You’re my priority.” He stands, offering me an outstretched hand. “We gotta get ya warm and to a doctor. Come on, babe.”

I stare at his upturned palm, then up to his stupidly sexy face. It might be covered in blood, and he might have dark circles under his eyes, but that doesn’t kill his sex appeal in the least. I wish I didn’t find him so damn attractive. That would make all of this a hundred times easier. “You just ignored your wife,” I remark, which goes over like a lead balloon when Ryker frowns, bends down, and steals one of my hands before yanking me to my feet and into his arms in one swift motion. My stomach dips in girlish ways as I’m hoisted into the air, swallowing a startled gasp.

Carrying me out of the room like a damsel in distress, I rest my uninjured cheek on his shoulder. Kade meets us in the hall.

“Hey there, beautiful. Ya ready to go home?” he asks cheerfully, patting my arm.

“Yes. Do you know where my girls are?”

“Our girls,” Ryker corrects gruffly, stepping over what I assume is a dead body. Not wanting to know for sure, I avert my eyes and focus on his stained shirt. The last thing I wanna do is puke.

“Right. Our girls.” That tastes weird leaving my palate. “Do you know if they’re okay?” Please say they are. Please say they are. God. I’ve been worried sick about them. And when I’m worried sick, my appetite goes in the shitter because my stomach’s tied in knots.

“Don’t worry, beautiful. Jezebel and some of her Sacred Sisters picked ‘em up, and took ‘em to their compound the day we found out you were missin’,” Kade clarifies as Mr. Broody stops at the front door. Now, this I remember. It’s the same metal door they forced me through when I arrived.

Kade opens it for us, and Ryker shifts me in his arms, getting a better hold.

“I can walk,” I offer, only because it’s the right thing to do.

When, honestly, I don’t wanna leave the comfort of his arms, even if his wife can see and gets pissed. I’m too exhausted to give a crap. Plus, his warmth feels good enough to make me forget I’m supposed to hate him for all eternity. Tomorrow, I can go back to loathing his existence. Today, I’ll bask in the safety of his embrace, if that means freedom.

“The fuck you will.” Ryker shakes his head, stepping outside into the blustery cold. I shiver, despite his body heat, and snuggle closer, tucking my sore face into the leather of his vest to shield my cheeks from the harsh wind.

We make haste to the awaiting SUV, and Ryker hefts me into the back, refusing to let me down, regardless of my offer. Draping me across his lap, feet dangling in the aisle, some attractive bald man from the driver’s seat passes us a plush blanket. Ryker lifts his chin in thanks before covering me with the soft cotton. Kade climbs in the opposing side, slamming the door in his wake.

“Where’s Vanessa?” I murmur as we pull away from the warehouse.

“She’s in the other truck,” Big answers from the passenger seat. “She copped an attitude, and I didn’t wanna deal with her shit. So she can be tortured by those fuckers singin’ all the way back to the clubhouse.”

That doesn’t sound bad. I’d gladly take tone-deaf singing over physical abuse any day of the week, and twice on Sunday.

“Why don’t you two get in the back?” Kade suggests, tapping the side of my calf.

“Do you wanna rest on me in the backseat, or stay in my lap?” Ryker asks as if those are my only options. They’re not. I could argue that, but won’t.

Hugging his arms tighter around my middle, one hand softly rubs my baby bump. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Ryker wants me to stay right here. Except the metallic, sweaty scent of his clothes isn’t the most pleasant. Sprawling out sounds heavenly. I could use some sleep.

In response, I attempt to wiggle off his lap. Though I don’t get very far when Ryker spins me around and plops me onto Kade’s lap for a moment as he climbs into the seat first, then drags me like a caveman back into his awaiting arms. I go without complaint because, really, what am I gonna do? Say no? I can be mad at him later.

“Hold up.”

He maneuvers me upward as he shucks off his cut and tosses it onto the open seat. Next, his shirt is pulled over his head revealing all that taut yumminess. Hey. You can’t blame a girl for ogling. I’m tired-drunk and beaten. There has to be a law that says I get to ogle all I want. My eyes rake down his chest, past his nipple rings, then I suck in a sharp breath, reaching out to stroke a jagged cut filleting his abdomen. There’s lots of dried blood surrounding it, and it’s swollen.

Ryker catches my hand before I get close enough. “I’m fine, babe.”

“No, you’re not. You’re injured.”

Curious, Kade peeks around his bucket seat. “No. That’ll be fine. I’ll get him disinfected and glued shut when we get back to the clubhouse.”

I regard Kade. “You’re sure he’s okay?”

He nods. “Positive. You can trust me.”

I know I can. He’s my best friend.

A sense of relief washes through me as I nod. Ryker draws me to his naked chest, slouching in the seat and pulling me halfway on him, so we’re sort of cuddling. His skin’s damp when I lay my palm on his pec, then carefully set my undamaged cheek on the other. It still aches, but not as badly as I thought it might.

Ryker draws sweet circles along my shoulders with his fingertips. “Rest. I’ve got you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my mangled hair.

That shouldn’t sound as good as it does, but how can I resist? I can worry about what this means later … or how it’s making me feel … or what really happened and why. Right now, I’m gonna relish the heat of my ex, who, for a few short moments, I can pretend is mine, and that I wasn’t abused, stuck in a freezing hellhole for days. Right now, I’m just a girl cuddling with her baby’s father.

A stifling wave of fatigue sweeps through me like a freight train. Dropping my heavy eyelids closed, I drift off. Welcomed into a sweet sleep that smells like a man I used to cherish, his distinct voice whispers beautiful things to me—things that give me a flicker of hope for the first time in forever.

Sweatpants two sizes too big dangle off the tips of my toes, as my legs hang over the edge of this cold medical table. Hands fisted on top of my baby bump, I grit my teeth, trying not to whine when Kade whips another excruciating stitch through my cheek. He wanted to give me a shot to numb the area, but I refused. Topical numbing was as good as I allowed. I’m not the biggest fan of needles. Especially near my face. Three minutes ago, I was on the verge of begging for one. My knife wound is too deep and jagged for glue, so I get to walk around with a four-inch line of sutures protruding from my face, and a broken nose that was recently set. That, too, hurt like a bitch. At least my cut lip was glueable. The rest, I’m not sure how bad it looks. I haven’t had the courage to peek in the mirror. I’m too afraid of what I might see, and I don’t have any energy left to make it through a total meltdown.

“Almost done,” Kade says, plastering on a nursey smile, his face the picture of perfect health. You couldn’t see that under the thick layer of blood when I first saw him. Now he looks just as handsome as I remember. Tall, lean, but not overly so. His face scruffy, yet youthful. He’s adorable, even if his blue eyes are heavy with fatigue.

We arrived at the clubhouse/compound about an hour ago in the dead of night. The kidnappers had driven me to Kentucky, a couple hours from the Sacred Sinners mother chapter, and even closer to their support clubs, which, I guess, are located in Kentucky somewhere. I’m not exactly sure. I picked up bits and pieces of whatever Ryker tried to explain.

On the journey here, I caught a reenergizing nap. Then minutes before we pulled into the gated fortress, Ryker shook me awake. Upon arrival, I was met with a handful of women who insisted on doting upon me. They call themselves Sacred Sisters, I think. Jezebel, the only one I’ve met, wasn’t among them. Evidently, my daughters are having a sleepover at her house tonight. It’s relieving to know they’ve been so well taken care of. I owe these people my sincerest gratitude for that.

Following a round of swift introductions, that I barely remember, I took a shower in Big’s clubhouse bathroom, and slid on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt that was given to me. They smell an awful lot like Ryker, but beggars can’t be choosers. Thankfully, I haven’t seen Vanessa, much less heard her grating voice since we arrived. Ryker’s been MIA, too. I’m guessing he’s doing his husbandly duties. Can’t say that doesn’t sting a bit. It does. Sure, he escorted me inside. Even got me a drink of water from their kitchen before disappearing. It’s not like I expected anything from him. You can’t expect something from somebody who’s a ghost in your life. Hell. My dad, who’s supposed to be dead, is more present than him.

The attractive bald guy from the driver seat, whose name I learned is Gunz, is the one who led Kade and me to this handy medical room that they’ve stocked to the nines. Now here I am with an ugly cut being stitched that hurts like a motherfluffer.

Kade meets my gaze. It’s watery from trying not to cry. “You sure you’re okay?”

Blinking twice to force the tears away, I incline my head a smidge. “I will be.”

“Just one more pass.” His tone’s gentle with a hint of concern. I close my eyes the moment the needle pierces my flaming skin. What feels like a hot branding iron burrows through my flesh and out the other side. Grinding my teeth, a traitorous tear slips free, and I swipe it away before he notices.

“There. All finished.” Kade clips the needle off with his scissors, then pats my knee. “You need anything else?”

“I need for this week to have never happened,” I reply dryly.

“I know.” He pats my knee once more before pulling away.

Cleaning his tray of medical supplies, Kade tosses what he needs to in the correct bins before plopping his butt on the table beside me. Without thinking twice, I lean my ear against him the very same moment his arm hooks over my shoulders, permitting me to snuggle the side of his warm chest.

“Do you have any other, ya know, areas you need me to inspect?” Kade mumbles, pressing his lips to my hair.

What’s he getting at?

“If you’re asking if I was raped, I wasn’t.”

Sure, I was, you know … touched. That’s of no medical concern. I’d rather not think about it. At all. As in … never. This week, I’d rather forget altogether. Chalk it up to a bad dream. Not something that’ll give me nightmares for years to come.

“You sure? Your clothes were…” He trails off.

I can fill in the blanks easy enough. My clothes were torn. I had no panties left. It doesn’t take a genius to deduct there was some form of defilement. One I refuse to speak about with him or anyone else. I can’t risk being placed in the dreaded victim category that Vanessa, no doubt, has happily welcomed herself in to. Bile rises in my throat at the mere thought of sharing any part of this experience with her. How Ryker handles her random bouts of childishness is something I’ll never fathom. Nor do I wish to.

There’s a soft tap at the door. I stiffen, holding my breath. Is it him?

“Yeah?” Kade calls, a growl ripping from his throat.

“It’s Debbie,” the woman returns from the other side. I exhale, relaxing. “Whenever you’re ready, Kat, I’ll take you to your room.”

“Where’s she stayin’?” Kade’s on defense, his hand tightening around my shoulders like I’m his lifeline and he’s afraid to let go. It’s sweet. He’s mine, too.

“She’ll be in Big’s room. You’re welcome to stay with her, but I think they’re about to have Church.”

“Fuck.” Disengaging from our snuggles, Kade hops off the table in one graceful motion. Standing in front of me, he gently cups my chin in his mitts, tipping my head back to meet his gaze. “I’m gonna go to Church so I can see what we’ve gotta do next. You go with Debbie. I’ll come to bed with ya when I’m done.”

“You don’t—”

The silencing snarl Kade emits keeps me from arguing that he doesn’t have to babysit me. I’m too tired to fight. Pain will do that to a person. My cheek still throbs with the irregular rhythm of my heart.

Instead, I nod once, resolute. “Right. I’ll go with Debbie.”

Leaning forward, Kade brings his lips to my forehead, pressing a warm, tender kiss there. One that seeps in, making me buzz with contentment. He’s my best friend. The only one I’ve ever had. Aside from … ya know.

“I dunno what I woulda done if you—” he begins.

“I’m okay. Nothing that a little bit of healing won’t fix.”

My reassurance seems to work wonders when Kade pulls back, helps me off the table, slings his arm over my shoulder, then escorts me to the door. Debbie’s standing on the opposite side next to a pretty, petite woman covered in tattoos.

“You take her to Big’s room. Nowhere else. Ya hear me?” he stresses, curling me closer to his body. I hook my arm around Kade’s lower back, hugging him tighter. My growing belly nudges his hip.

Deb reaches out a tentative hand in my direction, suspending it midair. “I’m Deb, and this…” She tilts her head in the small woman’s direction. “…is Pixie. I wasn’t sure if ya remember meetin’ us when ya came in.”

A surge of guilt races through me. “I … yes … sorry. I don’t...”

Deb shrugs a shoulder, her hand still waiting. I take it into mine and give it a quick shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Kat.” She nods respectfully in Kade’s direction. “Kade.”

He lifts a defiant chin. “Debbie. Just keep her safe and outta any of this bullshit.”

Visibly offended, Debbie’s eyes crinkle around the edges as she leers at him. “She’s a sister. We take care of our own. Pix and I will stay with her ‘til you make it back. No need to worry. This ain’t our first rodeo.”

“Sure. Got it. A sister,” Kade mumbles, the muscles in his arms bulging as they attempt to cut off my circulation.

If he’s not careful, he’s gonna snap one of my bones. He’s too damn strong. I press my hand to Kade’s stomach for him to release a bit of his hold, and he does without complaint. Thank God. I exhale in relief, rolling my shoulders to loosen them. This man’s wound too tight. He needs to get laid. Maybe that’ll wash away some of his tension.

Shaking her head in apparent frustration, Debbie clucks her tongue. “We take that seriously. It doesn't matter if she’s from our chapter or not. A sister is a sister. We take care of our own. You go on to Church, and we’ll settle her in.”

I’m not sure what being a sister means, but I’m not gonna complain if that means I’ve got a couple women to keep me company ‘til Kade returns. I was alone in that damned hellhole, so the last thing I want is to be left to my own devices again. Not when I know where my thoughts will surely drift—either to Ryker or that cold, dark cell. Take your pick. I still can’t believe he held me the entire ride here. Underneath the tangy scent of blood, he still smelled of himself. A scent I’ve never forgotten.

My belly dips at the remembrance.

See, I’ve gotta stop thinking about the fool.

Growling under his breath, Kade turns to face me. I have to tilt my head way back to make eye contact. He’s frowning, a severe crease between his brows. “You gonna be okay goin’ with them?”

Feigning an encouraging smile, I nod. “Yes. Now go do what you gotta do. Just don’t take forever.” I end on a painful wink that I successfully don’t wince at. This appears to relax Kade when he drops a kiss to my forehead, glares at the two women, then leaves us. For a moment, I watch his retreating form until it disappears through a doorway.

“It might be a while. They’ve got a lot to talk about. But we’ll keep ya company.” Deb pats my shoulder before she heads in the opposite direction Kade went. The Pixie woman stays with me until I’m ready to go. It takes a moment or two for my brain to set the gears in motion, and my feet shuffle forth.

I suppose it’s time to rest and get a good night’s sleep. If that’s possible. Wish me luck.

Ryker

In the main room of the clubhouse the entire Sacred Sinners mother chapter, and those from our Texas chapter pop a squat on any available surface, as Brew unloads two cases of beer on the bar. Big Dick decided it was better to have Church in a larger space. There’s not enough room to fit all of us around his table.

Stealing a bottle of Bud, I strut over to the couch and perch myself on its arm, next to my pops. Who’s texting what I assume is his VP, trying to make some sort of amends. Like that’s gonna happen anytime soon. Ghost is probably ready to grind his bones to make his bread. Not that I blame him.

Kade pushes his way into the room, shaking his head, jaw tight. Snagging a beer off the bar, he finds a spot against the wall to lean. I should probably go over and ask how my little Tiger’s doin’. But watchin’ him extract a knife from his cut, I think better of it. Maybe later we’ll get all this shit sorted out. It’s bad enough I had to leave Kat long enough to tend to Vanessa. Apparently, she was a real banshee. Demanding that I see her; I did. She’s staying at one of the members’ houses. That’s one of the differences from our clubhouse and this. They’ve got a gated compound that’s separated between the main clubhouse in the front and an entire village in the back. All the members, their old ladies, and kids live here like one big supportive family. It’s pretty fuckin’ sweet.

The big man himself takes front and center, commanding attention. As if that’s hard. The guy’s bigger than anyone I’ve seen in person. He’s so huge he makes me look like an ant. No wonder he’s our national prez.

Pulling his hair back into a ponytail, Big sweeps the room with his penetrating gaze before he speaks. “We’ve gotta handle this shit. I’ve got our clubs on standby. Support clubs ready to go at a moment’s notice. We gotta get this locked down. No more kidnappings. No more Ghost bullshit. I thought we had this sorted years ago. That’s why I sent his ass down to Texas.” His crystal eyes shoot bullets in our direction. Then they soften around the edges, and he sighs long and hard.

“I’ve got enough goin’ on right the fuck now, with my old lady bein’ gone. The last thing I need to deal with is this small time club, prissy bitch shit. They’re butthurt Ghost took their money. So the fuck what. If they were smart, they woulda let that go. Buried it just like they thought he’d been buried. But no. They gotta piss me off when I don’t have time to be pissed off. So the question I’m askin’ ya is what do ya wanna do? Do we see how they respond to us takin’ out their men, and one of their clubhouses? Or do we mow their asses down and take them out for good? It’s no secret I don’t like war if I can avoid it, too much blood to be spilled. Too many families involved. Kids losin’ parents. Mama’s losin’ their sons. I’m not Boss Man. I don’t like puttin’ people to ground if I don’t have to. Ya got me?”

His dad’s name lingers in the air like a rancid stench. I wasn’t around when his pops was prez. He was well known for killin’ now and askin’ questions later. A real brass-balled asshole from what I’ve heard. At least Big can think before he acts. I respect the hell outta him for that. Carrying the weight of our entire club can’t be easy.

Nudging Pops in the shoulder, I will him to speak up. He’s gotta be the one to make the right decision. Not me. I’m not thinkin’ logically right now. At this point, I’m ready to go Vlad the Impaler on their asses to set an example. But this ain’t the 1400’s in Transylvania. We’ve got laws and clean up to deal with. Thanks to technology, puttin’ someone to ground isn’t as easy as it once was. Brothers go to prison for smokin’ weed for fuck sakes. What do you think the pigs are gonna do if a whole MC is wiped from the face of the earth? And that’s assumin’ we don’t lose a few of our own in the process.

When Pops takes too long to speak, I glance at Kade, who’s two shakes from goin’ ballistic. His cheek twitches as he rubs the blade of his bowie knife up and down the beer bottle. Slivers of label rest at his feet.

Knowin’ we can’t wait any longer to sort this out, I elbow Pops in the bicep. “You got anythin’ to say, old man?”

“I’m thinkin’,” he growls, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “I’ve already gotta deal with Ghost losin’ his shit on me. The last thing I need to do is fuck this up, too.” He lifts his head, making firm eye contact. Silent words are exchanged. He needs my help.

“Right.” I sigh, then lift my chin toward Kade to distract him from doin’ anything stupid. “What do ya think, bro?”

Blinking twice, Kade stows his knife and stands to his full height, strangling that bottle in his fist. “I think we need to protect family first. Bleed who we gotta bleed, but be smart about it.” He sways on his feet, jittery. “I agree with Big. I don’t think war’s the answer. Puts too much heat on us. And after what happened tonight, there’s already gonna be someone breathin’ down our necks. There always is.”

He’s right.

With the wave of my hand, I gesture for Kade to go on. Big and the rest of the crew place all eyes on him, soaking up his wisdom. He’s smart. Much smarter than me about some of this. I’ve got too much at stake. That’s why it’s gotta be up to Pops or someone else to pave the course. ‘Cause all I wanna do is kidnap my woman and kids and force them to stay with me forever, just to protect them. That would mean stealin’ her away from her mom and life here. Something I promised I’d never do because it wasn’t fair to her. None of this has been. She’s gonna be scarred for life ‘cause of me. And that’s after the years of emotional shit I’ve already piled on her by leavin’ and comin’ back. I’m a selfish prick. But when it comes to her, I can’t see anythin’ else. She’s the sun in my universe. Nothing else compares.

Kade, Big, and Gunz trade ideas as my thoughts focus on Kat and how all of this is gonna affect her long-term. It was one thing to leave her high and dry for the betterment of the club—my family. Now here we are. I’m in the same building as her, and my body physically aches to hold her in my arms again, to make sure she’s whole. That might make me a pussy, but I don’t give a fuck. Kat dozed, cuddling on my chest the entire ride to the compound. For those few moments, it felt like the old life we had, before Vanessa and the club. When it was just our babies and us. It was much simpler back then. Happier.

Lost to introspection, I’m jilted from my daydream when Kade yells my name, and Pops slaps my thigh. “What?” I snap, glaring at them.

“We asked you a question.” Pops rolls his eyes.

Shit.

“Yeah? What?”

“Have you been listenin’ at all?” Kade asks.

Like I’m gonna admit I’m not and get razzed for it. “Sure. Whatever. Just ask your fuckin’ question.” I adjust my ass on the arm as Big drops himself onto a stool next to Gunz. Guess he’s leaving this for us to settle. Either that, or he’s tired like the rest of us. I think we all need a good twelve hours and some pussy. Not that I’m gettin’ any of the latter. It’s been a while. Surprised my dick hasn’t fallen off from neglect.

“We want your thoughts on how we should handle Kat, the girls, and Vanessa. Seein’ as though you got two chicks knocked up. One that is pretty fuckin’ priceless to us, and the other’s your old lady.” Kade crosses his arms defiantly over his chest and quirks a challenging brow.

Fuck all that horse shit.

I stand, squarin’ up to my brother for pissin’ me off. I get that he needs to let off some steam. We all do. But fuck … he doesn’t need to take that out on me. We’re on the same side. Pushin’ my buttons is not the way we roll. “First off, the same one who you’re callin’ priceless is my old lady! Everyone fuckin’ knows that,” I snarl, pointin’ a finger at him like he’s an errant child. This always gets him riled up. So what. He already insinuated Vanessa’s my old lady, and that’s bull. I don’t like playin’ games.

“Really? Is that why you tended to your wife when Kat was goin’ through hell, gettin’ stitched by me? You weren’t there. You didn’t see her pain. You left as soon as we got here to go check on your bitch. So, excuse me for assumin’ that you decided Vanessa was your old lady. ‘Cause I damn sure know that I’d be takin’ care of what’s mine before handlin’ some prissy bitch who means nothin’ to me.”

Whoosh… The emotional blow slams into my gut like a wrecking ball as soon as the words are spoken. Air punches from my lungs, and I wrap an arm around my aching middle to keep from buckling. Kade’s right. So goddamn right. I should’ve let Vanessa handle herself and made sure Kat was okay. I shouldn’t have left. Fuck! I’m screwin’ this all up.

He’s not done. “Then we ask you what you wanna do about them and you ain’t even got the decency to listen to us talk. It’s like you don’t give a fuck.”

What?!

“I give a fuck!” I roar, eyes flying wide, taking a step forward. “I give a lot of fuck. I’ve always given a fuck. She’s been mine for years!”

“Then act like it!” Kade returns, shaking his head in disgust, the bottle swinging between his fingertips like he’s ready to chuck it at my skull. “Make a choice on what you wanna do with the two women who’re carryin’ your kids! We can’t decide for you. You should want this power. Power that Pops and Big didn’t have to grant you, but did. If you’d been listening. They’re yours to take care of, Ryker. So do your damn job or we’re handlin’ Kat and feedin’ Vanessa to the wolves. Ya, hear me?”

Fuck! He’s right. Scrubbing a hand down the side of my face, feelin’ all kinds of useless right now, I give myself a mental kick in the ass. I love my bro, even if he can be a prick sometimes. At least he’s lookin’ out for Kat and me.

“Alright,” I reply calmly, lifting my hands in mock surrender to defuse the situation before Kade unleashes himself on me. I don’t have the energy to deal with that right now. “I know what we gotta do. Kat and the girls gotta…

Kat

There’s a dip in the mattress beside me. My eyes flutter open a smidge to watch Kade slip under the covers in a pair of boxers. The mother in me wants to scold him for climbing into bed with an emotional pregnant lady, wearing nothing but his skivvies. The rest is grateful to have a body to curl up next to. To gather the warmth that’s been missing from my life for what feels like years. Loneliness has a way of breaking your spirit, and this week, it’s zapped everything from my soul. I need a recharge.

Resting his head on the pillow next to mine, he burrows closer, until our noses are two inches from touching.

“You awake?” he whispers, wafting the scent of crisp beer up my nose. I can’t help but grin.

“Yeah,” I whisper just as quietly like it matters what our decibels are.

Nobody else is gonna hear us. Nor care. We’re not in high school, hiding from our parents, trying not to get caught. He didn’t just sneak in through my bedroom window to ravish me like you read about in books. A muted giggle bubbles its way up and out of my throat at the thought.

“Why are we whispering?” I say through a tired smile, disregarding the niggling pain in my face.

“Because I didn’t know if you were asleep.”

The edge of his lopsided grin is highlighted by the sliver of light sneaking out of the cracked bathroom door. I turned it on after the Sacred Sisters left. They didn’t stay long, per my request. It’s uncomfortable conversing with a set of women who look at you with pity. There’s only so much of that I can take. So when I told them I needed to sleep, Deb, the more assertive one, was hesitant to leave me be. After a few practiced yawns, over exaggerated arm stretches, and a trip to the bathroom, she relented and they left. I’m not sure how long ago that was. But as soon as they departed, I climbed into bed and have been waiting for Kade ever since. Pretty sure I dozed here or there, because my eyes are crusty and there’s a small puddle of drool on my pillow. Sorry, Big.

“How’d the meeting go?”

Slithering like a snake through the tall grass, Kade’s hand crosses my side of the bed and bumps my belly. “Shit. Sorry. Where’s your hand?” he asks, patting my roundness in apology.

Untucking one from underneath the pillow, I offer it to him. “Right here.”

Without pause, Kade cups his bigger mitt over mine, pinning it to the mattress, so we’re sort of holding hands but not. It’s like softcore hand porn in the missionary position without any foreplay or penetration. The heat of his calloused palm seeps into mine, comforting me in only ways that Kade can. There’s nothing sexual or romantic about it. It’s two friends reconnecting as we lay on our sides, facing one another. Maybe he knows we can’t cuddle because it’ll be too much, but that his small gift of affection makes all the difference? Don’t ask me how he reads me like his favorite book. He just does. Not that I know if he has a favorite book. Most of the time when I drone on about mine, he teases me. What can I say? I’m sort of a nerd.

“We’ll talk about that shit in the morning,” he grumbles.

That doesn’t sound promising.

“Take it, it didn’t go well?”

The bed shifts and I think I see his shoulder rise and fall in a shrug. Though I can’t be sure; the room’s too dark to tell.

“It was fine,” he evades.

“Fine in girl talk means not okay. Or is this fine in man talk? Where it actually means fine. By your tone, I’d say this is the female version.”

Kade chuckles heartily, perfuming the air between us with more beer scent. I’m not sure if I’m grossed out or thankful to smell something familiar. It’s better than the industrial scent of the warehouse. Or the lingering stench of my bodily fluids fermenting in that bucket. Who knew after a few hours of smelling it, you’d become nose blind to the stink? Not me. I’m grateful for it, though.

“We’ll talk about it in the mornin’, Watermelon tits.”

Him and that damned nickname.

“I don’t wanna talk about it in the morning, Dickcheese. I wanna talk about it now,” I faux gripe, plying him to divulge anything and everything.

It feels like ages since we’ve talk talked. It’s different than chatting with a group of women you don’t know. Not that they’re bad. They’re not. They’re awesome. But when you’ve been locked up in a room for what feels like a month, you want something familiar to bring you back to reality. I’m grateful that Kade traveled all this way to be here for me. He’s a sweetheart.

“Ryker’s an asshole. How does that sound?” He sighs, exasperated.

“Sounds about right. Wanna talk about it?” Discussing Ryker and how much of an asshole he is, is so far up my alley that it’s in my driveway, with the window down, as I sing I Don’t Want No Scrubs.

BTW, that’s my jam.

“There’s nothin’ to say. I love my brother, but he’s fuckin’ stupid sometimes. He needs to pull his head outta his ass.”

“Tru dat, g-money,” I say in my most ridiculous thug voice.

“Did you just say g-money?” he snorts amused, and I think shakes his head. I can’t be certain. At least I know he’s smiling. Mission accomplished.

“Yeah. I did. I think your beer breath’s gettin’ me drunk.”

Kade covers his mouth. “Shit. I’m sorry,” he mumbles behind his fingers. I can’t help but laugh.

“It’s fine. Trust me. I promise. Anything is better than the smell of my own urine or a cold building.” He lets me peel his hand from his face and force it back to its rightful place.

“You sure?”

I can’t believe he’s this self-conscious.

“Sheesh. Yes. I’m sure.”

“Good. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure Big would murder me, then piss on my grave if I stole his toothbrush.” He’s dead serious.

“He would not. He’s letting us sleep in his bed, and I drooled on his pillow.”

Kade gasps dramatically. “Uh-oh. You better not tell him that. You might be next.”

I slap him playfully on the shoulder. “You’re so full of shit. Now back to Ryker. Why’s he an asshole? And have you talked to Dad? I haven’t.”

“No. You can talk to your dad tomorrow. He and Pops have been goin’ at it all night. Just let it go for now. We’ll discuss more of this in the mornin’. You need to get a good night’s sleep.” Kade yawns, making me think he needs it more than I do. I got a little rest as I waited for him, which seems to have tied me over for now.

“You’re staying with me all night, right?”

Please say he’s not gonna skip out after I’m down for the count. I don’t wanna wake up to an empty bed. Not tomorrow. Not after this week.

Kade leans in and sweetly pecks the tip of my nose. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, beautiful. Sleep well. And that’s an order.”

I smirk, immediately feeling a hundred times better. “Sir. Yes, sir… Night.”

In the light of day, I’ll finally see my girls again, and I couldn’t be happier. I’ve missed their cute butts like crazy. Then I’ll talk to Dad. And if I know him like I think I do, he’s probably going nuts not bein’ here. When I heard through the grapevine that Bear had left Dad behind, I felt for their situation. It’s gotta be difficult to navigate. But that’s too much for me to handle right now. I’ve got enough on my plate. Namely, a big asshole named Ryker whose necklace I’m still wearing as a reminder that I can’t trust him to do the right thing. Even Kade’s pissed at him, which doesn’t bode well for the situation.

Slipping my eyes shut, I inhale a deep lungful of air and blow it out, ridding my body of pent-up tension. Now’s not the time to overthink. Kade’s right. I need a good night’s rest. And there’s not a damn thing I’m gonna let stop me.

Ryker

Unfolding the metal chair outside Big’s bedroom, where Kat’s resting, I shove it against the wall next to the door and drop my heavy ass on it before crossing my arms over my chest. It’s time to settle in for the night. I refuse to sleep away from her, so the hall will have to do. This way, I can keep anyone from buggin’ her or Kade—who’s one lucky motherfucker.

When I first heard he was for real sleeping with my little Tiger, I wanted to gut him. Then I quickly thought better. He’s the only person I’d want in there with her, aside from myself. He can protect Kat from possible nightmares, and I know I don’t have to worry about him coppin’ a feel. It took me a hot minute to grasp they’re merely friends. Even though most outsiders would think otherwise. Like I give a fuck what they think anyhow.

Turnin’ the corner, Gunz, and his shiny bald head, spies me sittin’ outside her door like some love-struck idiot in a Disney movie. In tow, he’s got a brunette club whore clinging to his hand. I’m surprised the bitch’s walking at all. By her blown pupils and the way she squeezes her thighs together, I’d say she’s already gotten some biker dick. Either that, or she’s high as a kite. Any second now, the chick’s liabale to drop to her knees and give me a cock suckin’ show. That’d be more action than I’ve gotten in over a month. What? Ya can’t blame a guy for dreamin’.

“Really?” Gunz arches an amused brow.

I don’t have time for this shit.

Arms still tucked, I shrug nonchalantly, pullin’ my lips into a thin line, chin lifted in challenge. I’d like to see him razz me about this. “What?” I growl.

A smirk quirks at the corner of his lip as the whore paws at his arm like a bitch in heat. He pays the eager whore no mind as he stands three feet from my seat, casually makin’ eye contact.

“You do know sittin’ outside her room ain’t gonna fix none of this.”

“I get that.”

“If Kat’s anythin’ like my Bink, she’s a stubborn one. So you’re gonna have a helluva lot of grovelin’ to do to make any of this right. Don’t think for a second this is gonna be easy on you.”

What the actual fuck? I didn’t ask him for dating advice. Or how to handle my woman. The dude’s never had an old lady for as long as I’ve known him. Where does he come off actin’ like some fake ass love guru? To what? Impart his infinite wisdom that doesn’t exist?

“Your point?” I snap.

“That you need to reign in your cocky mouth and grovel ‘til your knuckles and knees bleed. Or you’re gonna end up with that nasty excuse of an old lady. It’s bad enough you’ve got ‘em both knocked up. And I’m not even about to ask how you managed that shit all the way from Texas. Come tomorrow, this is a whole new ballgame, brother. I want you prepared. ‘Cause Big’s neck deep in his own personal bullshit. Our club doesn’t have time to handle your love triangle and a rival club on top of everything else. Ya gettin’ what I’m puttin’ down?”

Damn it all to hell. I know he’s right. Still, I’m tired as fuck, and don’t wanna think about what tomorrow’s gonna bring. He doesn’t need to remind me. People gotta realize I didn’t ask for any of this. It happened, and now I’ve gotta handle it like a man. Life has a way of raining buckets of watery shit down on you.

Somberly, I bob my head, growing more exhausted by the second. “I’m hearin’ ya loud and clear.” There, I’m done talking. I’ve got nothin’ left to say.

Out of nowhere, the whore palms Gunz’s dick. Annoyed, he rumbles a string of expletives under his breath and sideways glances her way. “Are you wantin’ the belt tonight, Niki? ‘Cause you’re about to be punished for interruptin’ me.”

Licking her lips, her thighs press harder together.

Yeah. She sure as hell looks like she wants the belt. He’s got himself a kinky little whore. One who’s way too gangly to make even my neglected dick take notice.

Gunz lifts a displeased brow, awaiting her reply. Reading her man right, Niki mumbles some sort of half-assed apology. He reprimands her further by possessively gripping the back of her neck. Then Gunz turns to me, and we exchange mutual chin lifts before they disappear down the hall, with her half stumbling, half clinging to him. Looks like she got herself a lil more than she bargained for.

Tiltin’ my head back, restin’ it against the cool wall, I close my eyes and force myself to stop thinkin’ about Kat sleepin’ a few yards away. It’s the closest we’ve been in years. Somethin’ I’ll never forgive myself for.

Kat

Throwing my oversized sweats back on and stealthily unlocking the bedroom door, I slip into the hall, careful not to wake up a lightly snoring Kade. Ever so quietly, I reclose it, then nearly trip and fall on my ass when I walk straight into a folding chair. The metal screeches across the floor, and I wince, praying it doesn’t rouse my best friend.

“What the hell is this doing here?” I whisper hiss, returning the chair to its spot, scowling. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there was someone keeping watch outside my door last night. I sure as hell hope not.

Pushing that thought to the side, I navigate my way toward the common room of the clubhouse. A couple leather-clad members I don’t recognize pass me. In greeting, they lift their chins like some macho badasses, and I do the same, unsure of how I’m supposed to act.

Just as I near the common room to find someone who can retrieve my girls, a round of familiar giggles filter out from what I presume is the kitchen. Curious, I follow the enthusiastic banter and shove open the door.

“What’s—” Words turn to ash inside my mouth, toes freeze to the floor, as my eyes widen at the acute horror spread before me. How could this be happening? No! No! No!

A hush descends throughout the space for what feels like a millennia. The thrumming of my heart follows the tick of the nearest clock as three sets of nearly identical eyes swing my direction. The two sets attached to my heart and soul bring me a semblance of peace, the other belong to the man I wish would rot in Hell for all eternity. I’m going to kill the son of a bitch. String him up and castrate him with a pair of dull kitchen shears, so he can’t do this to another unsuspecting woman. So she doesn’t have to feel what I do at this very moment, watching my innocent, unsuspecting daughters sit in this room with their father. The man who abandoned them—us. The man who, from the smell permeating the air, made them pancakes and fucking bacon for breakfast. The heady aroma of maple syrup is enough to clog my pores.

My stomach audibly growls as my saliva glands send mixed signals to my traitorous brain.

I must remember pancakes are poison.

Another growl is punctuated by a baby tumble. I cup my belly to get a better feel.

You better not make another sound, stomach. I am not hungry.

And while I’m at it… why don’t you stop that, mouth? No more saliva. It smells like swamp ass in here. Not breakfast heaven wrapped in a thick layer of fatty bacon…

Uhh … that isn’t helping.

I huff, wanting to stomp my foot like a bratty child.

It’s been decided. I’m boycotting pancakes from this day forth. After Thanksgiving, I bent a little. Allowed myself to indulge a time or two since. But not anymore. Brent, the liar, ruins everything!

“Mommy!” Scarlett’s the first to launch herself off a metal stool, her fork clanging loudly as she drops it on her empty plate.

I glare at my nemesis, who at least has the decency to appear a little anxious. Good. He should be. I’m gonna tear him a new one for doing this and not even asking my permission. Who does that?

Before my brain can march through its homicidal thoughts, I’ve got two girls in my arms, their heads lying on my shoulders as I hug them around the waist like my life depends on it. A jumbled mess of encouraging words leak from my lips, but I couldn’t tell you what they are. It seems to appease my beauties, who rub my belly, talking to their sister like they’ve missed her.

Roxie’s tap on my unharmed cheek tears me from my murderous glare. Pausing one final beat to shoot eyeball daggers at jerkface, I then glance to her. There’s concern etched between her pale child brows as she gapes at my battered face. “What happened to you, Mommy? We were worried,” she says, hugging me a little tighter, making me feel downright awful they have to go through any of this. If I hadn’t gone to Texas, none of this would’ve happened.

Inhaling a deep breath, I exhale it slowly, expelling a flurry of angry nerves.

It’s no use in beating myself up any more than I already am. It did happen, and now I have to pick up the pieces like always—story of my life.

Here goes nothing.

Time to lie my ass off and hope it comes across genuine. There’s no way in hell I’m telling my children the real story.

Shrugging one shoulder and chuckling a few times as if my story’s silly, I spew a string of golden-spun bullcrap. “I had to go somewhere for Kade. Do you remember me mentioning him to you?” They nod in unison, soaking up every word. I hate this. “I was in this house, and I wasn’t looking where I was going. So I ended up falling down the stairs and hit a table. A vase fell and broke. It did this.” Removing my arm from Rox, I point to my injuries that I still haven’t had the courage to look at. I’m sure they’re hideous.

“Glass did that to you?” Scarlett gasps, cupping her mouth in shock. She’s such a girl.

Suffering through the twinge of pain, I grin at her adorableness. It’s too hard not to.

“Yup. But I’m fine now. Home, safe and sound.” There, that sounded way more chipper than I anticipated. One point for their liar-liar-pants-on-fire mom.

From the questioning look they share, then glance over at Ryker and back to me, I’m not convinced they believe my off-the-cuff fabrication. It was all I could produce at a moment’s notice. Yesterday, if my head had been screwed on straighter, I probably should’ve concocted a better lie to tell them so it didn’t sound outlandish.

“Ryker?” Rox turns in my embrace to face him. Though, she won’t move away. I’ll be lucky if they let me out of their sight in the next week.

Sir Asshole leans his broad shoulders against the industrial fridge and crosses his arms over his massive chest. There’s an ease to the way he moves—fluid and way too sexy for a dead man walking.

“What’s up?” He gives her his cool, undivided attention, ignoring the fact that I’m boring holes into his thick skull with my pinpoint laser vision.

“Did that really happen to my mom?” she asks innocently. I set my jaw, preparing myself for his response. If he undermines anything I’ve said, I’m gonna explode. There will be no coming back from this. Not even for the sake of my girls.

Ryker half-smirks, nodding, so sure of himself. Hell. I’d believe him if I were them. I should’ve known he’s an even better liar than me. He’s had years of practice.

Aside from Santa, the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, and where the last chocolate bar disappeared to, I tend to be honest with my kids. Even when they asked where babies come from, I didn’t conjure some stork story about a baby drop off service. Nope. I explained the female reproductive organs in disgusting detail. It made them a lil queasy at first when we covered periods and shedding of the uterus lining—stuff that most people are too afraid to talk about. But I wanted them to understand that babies grow in that special place that only females possess. Now don’t go judging me. I didn’t tell them that a guy sticks his cock in a vagina and spurts his seed into them. All I confessed was women need men to have babies. That they have to ‘couple’ in order to do that. I’m not naive to think that my girls haven’t heard the word sex before. To kids their age, it’s as funny of a word as penis or vagina. I should know. Scarlett came home one day with an elaborate story about a boy from class yelling penis at the top of his lungs during lunch. She thinks he’s dumb, for now. With my luck, Penis Boy will end up her boyfriend next week. God knows she’s got a revolving door of schoolboy suitors, to whom I refuse to let call the house or see her outside of school. I’m not a cool mom. Or so I’ve been told.

“She’s gonna be fine, pretty girl,” Ryker confirms in that assured, gravelly southern tone of his. One my girls surely won’t question.

A wave of relief washes through me. They appear to buy the lie when Rox turns toward me and pecks my uninjured cheek in acceptance, or whatever the kiss means.

“Glad you’re home,” she comments, wrapped in my motherly warmth as my arms tighten around them. I dunno if I can ever let these little babes go for another second. My heart feels crazy full with them here. Homeschooling sounds like an excellent choice at this point. If I wouldn’t go insane teaching them. Or, go broke in the meantime. Alright, so maybe homeschooling’s out.

“Me, too,” I reply, stuffing my nose in Scarlett’s sweet-scented hair that smells like coconut.

Across the room, Ryker stares blankly at us. What I wouldn’t give to dig around in his brain for an afternoon. It’d be nice to know what the hell he was thinking by making our children breakfast this morning. Good thing he didn’t disclose his relationship to them, or that would’ve ended him in the hospital. Now’s not the time to play daddy. He lost that privilege ages ago.

“Girls?” a familiar female voice singsongs, walking into the kitchen.

It’s Debbie, carrying what appears to be two dog leashes.

She takes three steps into the room and halts. Her round eyes swap from me back to Ryker. Then to the girls and Ryker again. Her eyebrows hike, hitting her hairline.

Deb scratches an invisible piece of lint off the front of her oversized t-shirt, visibly unsure of how to react. “Oh. Wow. Okay. I was gonna see if Scarlett and Rox would like to walk the dogs with me this mornin’. If that’s cool.”

“Sure it is,” Ryker and I reply in unison.

Oh. Hell no.

I scowl at him, my face aching with the effort. It’s worth it. Asshole.

He returns the sentiment. Tucking those impressive arms tightly like he’s a macho badass, aka something he’s not. What a chump. He has no say in what my daughters do.

Recapturing the upper hand, praying my girls can’t feel the tension level kick up a thousand notches, I stop staring daggers at Ryker and turn my attention to someone worthy of my time.

“Girls, would you like to go with Debbie? I hope you ate enough.” I’m pretty sure they did, seeing as though both of their plates are close to licked clean. Damn all that evil mapleiness. It corrupts us all.

Both sets of their pretty blues glance at each other, passing something between them that only sisters can, before they eye me to see if I’m on board with them helping Deb. To set their minds at ease, I release my tight grip on their shoulders and gently guide them in Debbie’s direction, offering my silent approval. They beam at the leashes. At Debbie. At me. Then do the unimaginable and turn to Ryker.

“Thanks for the pancakes. Mom doesn’t let us eat them. Only grandma does,” Scarlett clarifies, illuminating something I didn’t know—my traitorous mom feeds my kids pancakes behind my back. I thought we had an understanding. Pancakes are the devil.

I sigh, defeated.

Fucking pancakes.

“Anytime, pretty girl.” Ryker smiles a half smile. One that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I wait for him to say more, only it doesn’t come.

After parting kisses are dropped on both my daughters’ cheeks and a quick thank you is given to Deb, they scurry out of the kitchen, leaving me and the jerkface alone. Great. This isn’t going to go well if my blood pressure’s any indication. My palms are clammy. Heart rate berserk.

Waiting close to a minute, so I know my girls are out of earshot, I finally turn back to Ryker who hasn’t moved from his relaxed position against the fridge that doesn’t look all that big in comparison to his stupidly handsome, hulking body.

I can do this. I can talk to him without throwing a knife at his head.

Cupping my belly, I trace my fingers across the tight skin to calm myself before letting loose. “I don’t appreciate you makin’ Rox and Scarlett breakfast without my consent,” I grate.

He rolls his eyes.

Rolls his goddamn eyes.

“Are you kidding me right now?” I snap. “Rolling your eyes at me? That’s immature, even for you.”

The side of his lip curls in a barely contained snarl, blue eyes flashing indignantly. “This isn’t a fucking joke. I am their father. End of story. They came in with Jezebel to see if you were awake. I told them not to disturb your sleep. She had shit to do. My kids needed fed. So I fed my fucking kids. Don’t get your panties in a twist. I didn’t tell them who I was. I wouldn’t do that. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a complete asshole. I do care about their feelings, and yours. That’s why I’ve tried time and fucking time again to do right by you … and them.” He pushes off the fridge, taking a substantial step forward, seething in my direction.

Oh. This isn’t gonna work for me.

Nope.

Not happening.

My patience dried up the minute my face was sliced like a piece of deli meat.

So what if he held me on the way to the compound. Comforted me.

So what if my stomach is all sorts of wonky with him standing in the same room. Regardless if he’s pissed at me or not.

I’m pissed at him, too.

He can suck my clit.

No. No … I mean toe. He can suck my toe.

Not that I’m into that sorta stuff. I’m not. Foot fetishes … um, yeah. Not my thing.

Now, where was I?

Right. My righteous indignation.

Folding my fingers together atop my belly, standing a healthy distance from Ryker, I return his brashness with my even bigger lady nuts. “Don’t you snap at me. I didn’t ask to be here. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“And you think I did?”

“Yes!”

Oops. I don’t mean that. It slipped.

Ryker’s unshaven face turns a healthy shade of tomato red. His jaw’s close to cracking from clenching it so damn hard.

“Why do you think that?” He takes another weighted step forward, his noisy boot heels thundering off the walls.

“Be-cause,” I snip. It’s a mom answer. I know this. It works on the girls, but the scathing expression on Ryker’s face says I’m not gonna win with that.

At least I don’t find him as attractive anymore. Pissyness isn’t all that sexy.

“That may work on other people, but not me. Spit it the fuck out.”

Busted.

Upping my momness to the next level, I point a stern finger his way. “Watch your tone!”

“You, watch your tone!” he growls menacingly, coming one step closer. I contemplate taking a step backward. But don’t. Because, why in the hell would I give him the satisfaction? Nope. Not today. I’ve had enough.

“Stop coming closer to me. I can’t stand you. I don’t want you anywhere near me and the girls.” See? I’m nice. I said girls. I didn’t say my. Even though I’m thinking it, because they are mine. Mine. Mine. Flippin’ mine.

“Why?”

Ryker’s tone softens, his stare losing its intensity. I don’t like it. Yelling’s so much better. It fits the moment. I need there to be yelling. Even if I loathe the noise. It’s never the answer. I know this. But, right now, I need to shout. I need control. Some semblance of it, or I’m gonna break. Fall apart. Melt into a blubbering mess. My face hurts, body aches, and my feet are swollen. I haven’t eaten. And that bacon and maple syrup smells incredible. If he wasn’t here, I’d secretly swim in the stuff and pretend it never happened. I’m that hungry.

My stomach growls, and I ignore it. Ryker eyes my noisy belly before drawing his gaze up to my face, then to the stove where a small stack of uneaten temptation rests.

I suppress the urge to lick my lips at the sight, and send a silent prayer to God that I don’t get hypoglycemic shakes in front of my ex.

“Why what?”

I sustain the bitterness. It’s not hard. I’ve got years of it bottled deep, where I pretend it doesn’t exist. Where it can’t hurt me so I can be strong and own my life. Not succumb to the crap out of my control, like the man before me who plucks my emotions like the strings on a guitar.

Ryker takes a step.

He’s getting too close for comfort.

My confused insides tremble.

Shoulders back, I stand firm, showing little emotion.

“Why do you think I wanted this? And why don’t you want me around?” He cocks his head to the side, evaluating.

Expelling a long-suffering sigh, I regard the floor since I can’t very well look him in the eye. “I don’t actually think you wanted this. I think you wanted to be left alone in Texas and never have to think about or see me again. Which is fine. I know this was a huge roadblock in your perfect life. And I don’t want you around because all you know how to do is hurt people. I’m grateful that you helped save me. I am. ‘Cause I don’t wanna leave Rox and Scarlett without a mom. They only have me. And my mother is not a good consolation prize.” I laugh bitterly. The woman might be marginally changed. Still, if my childhood is any indication of her parenting skills, they’re atrocious.

“Hey. Don’t talk like that,” Ryker scolds in an oddly affectionate manner. Soft. Tender. Pussy fluttering. “You’re safe. My babies still got their mama. And you can believe whatever you want about how I feel. I deserve that.”

Yes, he does.

My stomach growls again, like a dinosaur about to Alien its way out of my abdomen.

“Jesus. You need to eat. Sit down so we can get some food in ya,” he adds.

Knowing he’s right and I’d be stupid to argue, I climb onto one of the stools my children vacated and pile their plates and silverware at the edge to be dealt with later.

Ryker, without saying another word, goes to the stack of untouched pancakes.

I shake my head, even though he can’t see it. “I won’t eat those.”

He glances over his shoulder at me, frowning. “Why the hell not?”

“’Cause they… Never mind. I just can’t. Anything else is fine. Toast. That sounds good.”

Spinning on his heel, those massive arms find their home again across that broad chest. Great. He’s angry. Again. Go me.

Shaking his head defiantly, Ryker flicks his gaze from my bump to face. “I’m not feeding two of my girls toast. Toast isn’t good enough.”

“Toast is fine,” I grumble. Why does he have to fight me on every small thing? And … I’m not his anything.

“It’s not. If you won’t eat my special pancakes, pick something else.”

Special pancakes. I remember those. Extra vanilla. A little brown sugar in the batch. Gah! That sounds delicious. At this point, cardboard sounds appetizing.

“Cereal,” I offer.

“Fuck no. That’s sugary carb crap. Not happenin’. Pick again.”

Exhausted by this merry-go-round, I scrub both hands down my face, ousting another put-me-out-of-my-misery groan. Was he always this difficult? I don’t remember that.

“Fruit? Anything. I don’t care, Ryker. Just feed me anything but pancakes. Or I can get it myself.” I move to slide off the stool.

“Don’t even think about it,” he orders, and I pause mid scoot. “Keep your sexy ass planted on that seat. And that’s an order.”

I concede begrudgingly, disregard his compliment, and, for a few short, luxuriating moments, enjoy watching Ryker shuffle around the kitchen without digging under my skin. It’s almost peaceful. Out of the fridge, he pulls a fruit salad that’s a mixture of what looks like watermelon, cantaloupe, honeydew, blueberries, pineapple, and two colors of grapes. He pours a healthy portion into a bowl from the cupboard, snags a yogurt from the refrigerator drawer when he replaces the leftover fruit inside, then grabs me a spoon and fork before setting it all in front of me.

“Here. This is much better for you and our baby.” Ryker snatches the yogurt away before I can open it myself. Ripping the foil top off, he resets the container next to my bowl of fruit. “If you don’t want the honeydew or green grapes, ignore ‘em, and I’ll finish them off when you’re done.”

I stab my fork into a purple grape, pausing the utensil halfway to my mouth as my brain plays catch up. “You remember?” I whisper more to myself than him, staring blankly at the bowl. Strange. It’s been years. I can’t believe he remembers I don’t care for green grapes because they’re too tart, and honeydew is sometimes … gross.

Standing across the metal table from me, he says, “Of course.”

Hmm. Interesting.

Pretending his consideration means jack, I shrug a single shoulder and dig in with pregnant woman gusto.

Flavor after flavor of sweet heaven bursts over my taste buds. I eat faster, shoveling it in with little decorum, groaning obscenely with pleasure. Ryker sets a tall glass of orange juice beside me. I wrap a fist around my drink and drain half the glass in one breath. The second half is gone by the next exhale.

“Fuck, babe, you can’t go that long again without feedin’ my kid. You’re famished.” Jug in hand, he refills the glass with OJ.

I swipe the back of my hand over my mouth to clean it. Very unladylike of me, I know. Like I give a crap.

“Thanks. And, yeah, I was. I only had water and bread in the … well … you know.”

“Shit,” he hisses.

Yup. That about sums it up.

“You want anythin’ else?” Ryker asks.

Eyeing my nearly empty bowl and demolished yogurt, I shake my head. “No. I’m good. This was filling enough.” I pat my belly to reassure him that I am, indeed, stuffed.

Tugging the bowl from me, he rests his hip against the steel table where I’m seated and finishes off my leftovers of grapes and honeydew, using his fingers. It’s too hot not to watch. Finger eating has its merits. And since I have no manners when he’s around, I know there’s a few half-eaten pieces in there. Though, he doesn’t seem to notice, or care when he plucks the last grape from the bowl and tosses it between his full lips, chewing thoughtfully before the thick muscles in his throat engage when he swallows.

Is it hot in here, or is it just me? That was … stupidly sexy. If I was wearing panties right now, they might’ve gotten a little damp.

Combing my fingers through my disheveled hair to clear my thoughts, I relish the companionable silence as Ryker redds up. It’s nice to sit back and not have to worry about dishes. He rinses them in the sink and loads them into the dishwasher that’s already half filled. This is full on mom porn. An attractive man wearing a pair of made-for-him jeans that make his tight ass look spectacular, just how I remember. Add a black and gray Harley tee that hugs every muscle like it wants to have his babies, a leather belt, some shit kickers, and you’ve got one mighty fine mom porn specimen.

Once his task is complete, Ryker returns to his station in front of the fridge. Arms tucked below pecs, ankles crossed, bald head tilted back to rest against the stainless surface. He appears relaxed. I wonder what he’s thinking about as he stares this way, poker face on point.

Ryker’s the first to burst the glorious silence bubble. “We need to talk.”

Uh. I hate those four words. Nothing good ever comes from them. And here I thought we were having a decent time for those few calm, untainted minutes.

I sigh, drained. “If this is about our kids, forget it. We’re not telling them you’re their dad. It’s not fair to them when you go back home, and they’re left with a mountain of questions. Please don’t make this worse. We’ve gone our separate ways tons of times before. This doesn’t have to be any different.”

Ryker switches ankles, overlapping them differently. It’s a nervous tell. A small one, but one nonetheless. Whatever he says next, I know isn’t gonna bode well for me. I wipe my damp palms along the top of my sweatpants and prepare for the worst. Whatever that may be.

“Three times,” he comments.

Huh?

“Three times, what?”

Ryker’s thick biceps flex as he stiffens, nostrils flaring. “It hasn’t been tons of times that we went our separate ways, Kat. It was three. Once when I left the first time. Then the night I knocked you up with our third daughter. And, lastly, after you came to Texas for Thanksgiving. Three. Not tons.”

Geeze. Someone’s offended by my word choice. Sensitive much? Three is a lot in the scheme of things, since the span of time’s so great.

“Fine. Three. Not tons,” I concede with a twinge of attitude, to ease the big baby’s mind. “After I go home, it will be four. How many times does someone have to leave your life for significant amounts of time for it to qualify as a ton? Can you give me an exact measurement? Six times? Eight? Twelve? I’d like to know for reference.”

Shaking his head, not at all charmed by my dry sarcasm, Ryker retorts. “You’re fuckin’ ridiculous, you know that?”

I shrug innocently. “What? You’re arguing with me over a word. I’m merely trying to understand what classifies as a ton in your mind, so in ten years, when we see each other again, I can look back on today and remember.”

Lips pursing as I slowly burrow deeper under his skin like an irritating tick, Ryker snorts derisively. “It won’t be ten years. Not when you’re movin’ to Texas this week.”

Wh—

What?

What?!

No.

No way.

My mouth hangs open in shock, eyes bugging for half a second.

An eerie shiver passes through me.

Two powerful heartbeats slam my ribcage as my brain echoes his words.

Moving to Texas.

What the actual fuck?

I didn’t agree to that.

Who said I was moving? I sure as hell didn’t.

Assembling my jumbled thoughts, I tilt my head up to meet Ryker’s unreadable eyes. How’s he so calm?

Flattening both palms on the table top, I straighten my back and narrow my gaze. “I dunno where you got that stupid idea, but I’m not moving anywhere. This is my home. The girls have school. I work.”

“It’s already been decided,” he replies coolly.

“By who?!” I growl, climbing down off the stool as my body begins to vibrate in rage. I waddle around the table, coming closer to where Ryker stands. Not too close, but close enough that I can easily chuck something at his forehead and not miss.

“The club.”

Screw that. They don’t own me. This is not happening. He can kiss my big ass. We’re not going anywhere!

Throwing my head back, I belt a humorless laugh. “It’s hilarious that you think that you can order me around. That your club has any say in what I do or don’t do. You don’t own me. So I sure as fuck ain’t gonna be movin’ anywhere.” I level my sight on him to be sure my words penetrate that thick skull.

Ryker appears unaffected. Emotionless. The fuck? “It’s already done, Kat. Gunz took care of the girls’ school transfers this morning. They’re no longer enrolled here. They start school in three days. And your resignation letter was faxed to your employer this morning. The water, electric, and gas have been scheduled to be shut off at your house tomorrow. The place will be winterized by one of the brothers. Mail will be forwarded to a secure post office box in Red Fort. We’ve taken care of the essentials. All you gotta do is go with me to the house today to pack clothes and other stuff for you and the girls. We leave tonight, under the cover of darkness. And, for their safety, the girls have already left with Pops. They’ll meet you there in a few days. In the meantime, you need to get used to the idea of movin’ south. After what happened, it’s the safest. Keepin’ you close is the only way to keep you from harm. And I refuse to take any more chances of them kidnappin’ you again, or worse, killin’ ya, when we’ve got a war brewin’ with another club. They know you’re mine, and that you’re Ghost’s daughter. If you stay, it would only be a matter of time before they tried to hurt you again. I refuse to let that fuckin’ happen. Not when I can protect you myself.”

Oh. My. God.

This … this can’t be happening.

Pinching my arm to check if I’m dreaming, I pray this isn’t my worst nightmare come to life.

No such luck. My skin throbs beneath the irritation. Blinking slowly, I try not to lose it, as my world as I know it is literally hurled off its axis and pissed on.

Did I hear him correctly? They already took my daughters away from me? They’ve left? Why would they do that? Why couldn’t I say goodbye? Who does that? What’s wrong with these people?

My stomach churns, acid boils up my throat, and I swallow it down.

Dropping my hands to my sides, I ball and unball my fist as my brain chews over the heaviness of this situation. First, I’m kidnapped. Hurt. Sewn up. Then I wake up to my ex feeding my kids. All of which I think I’ve taken in stride. Done the mature thing for the most part, and not broke down or gone Sarah Conner on their behinds. Now I have to digest this? Something, I, once again, didn’t agree to. And let me tell ya, this isn’t going down smooth. Each word is like a shard of glass ripping my esophagus, slicing its way through my innards, forgoing my stomach altogether. It hurts like hell, and my pulse is thundering fiercely to keep me alive. I begin to sweat as a fresh batch of adrenaline is shot into my veins.

Across the way, Ryker watches me with an air of concern. He opens his mouth to say something when he catches me watching him watch me. Only, I shake my head, and he heeds my silent order to shut it. Smart choice. The first one he’s had all day.

Exhaling a laden breath, I pull up my big girl panties and prepare to unleash the inner beast. You can’t do this to me and expect to walk out of here unscathed. Over my dead body.

“Let me get this straight.” I clear my throat to enunciate crisply. “Your club, in which I have no association with, aside from you and my father being members, have decided my fate without my consent or consideration? As well as the fate of my two daughters who I’ve raised on my own since they were still in diapers. Am I hearing this correctly, Ryker?”

He opens his mouth as if he’s prepared to argue, then closes it again, frowns, and nods guiltily.

Good. A nod is way better than words right now. At least he has the decency to appear a tad bit uncomfortable.

Bouncing on the balls of my feet, so jazzed up I could pound flesh, I choose my next words carefully. “You allowed them to take my girls away without me saying goodbye, Ryker. Monsters are the only things who steal children from their mothers without a proper goodbye. Without my say in the matter! Who the hell do you think you are?! You act like you’ve got all this planned out. What? You gonna hide me away, Ryker, like a good little woman and force me to live in the cabin you built in the woods? Gonna make me play happy sister-wife with that horrible person you said I Do to? The one who’s a rat? The one who’s a liar? Well, guess what? Fuck you, bucko. I’m not doin’ a goddamn thing you say! You force me against my will, and I’ll run away to a place you and your club could never find me. And you can bet your sweet ass that I’ll be kidnapping my daughters back and bringing them along for the ride. You did that to me … to us. You fucked us over. I was living a normal life. I even had a fucking date with a nice guy the day I was kidnapped. Now, look at me.” I point to my face.

“Who’s gonna wanna date this ugly mug now? Huh? A scarred up bitch with daddy issues, abandonment problems, ex-boyfriend baggage, and three daughters. Oh, and I’m jobless. Great. Fantastic.” My index finger swishes through the air like I’m drawing an invisible check mark. “Checkmate. You win. You got what you wanted. You got your cake, and get to eat the motherfucker, too. I hope it tastes good going down. Better savor that flavor, baby, ‘cause I’m comin’ for you.” I point a stern finger in his direction, making direct eye contact. “You best sleep with one eye open, ‘cause this club war will be the least of your worries when I’m done with you. Hell. You’ll wish they got to you first.” Exhaling profoundly, my shoulders sag as the last of my verbal rage perfumes the air.

“You done?” The corner of Ryker’s lip hooks into a half smile as he reaches down to adjust…

You’ve got to be kidding me!

“Jesus Christ! You have a boner,” I state accusingly.

Ryker shrugs his left shoulder unapologetically. “So? You’re sexy as sin when you get all riled up.”

Scrubbing both palms down my face, I release an exasperated groan. Only he would turn this conversation into something it’s not—sexual.

When I drop my hands to my sides, Ryker readjusts that damn salami down the inside of his pant leg as if goading me.

“Will you stop touching that thing?” I grumble, rubbing my Buddha belly to keep from enacting violence.

Fuck.

“Why can’t I stop touchin’ it? Are you blind as well as sassy? Do you really expect me to remain unaffected when you talk all fierce and shit? Yeah right. Mama Bear suits you. Especially when your eyes go all intense and your chest rises and falls fast, bouncing those luscious tits. I’m a man with two eyes and a lonely cock. And when it looks at the only thing it wants, it’s gonna perk right up, regardless of your death threats… Which, by the way, we are moving into the cabin I built for you. No, it won’t be with Vanessa. Yes, it was shitty of me to okay Pops takin’ the girls without you sayin’ see ya later. However, you and I both know that you would’ve clung to them, cried, and become way more possessive if they were torn from you with you knowin’. That’s why I did it quick. Like rippin’ off a band-aid. They’re my kids, too. I wouldn’t put them in a truck with someone I don’t trust. You get that, right?”

Ah!! Why does he have to be so damn frustrating? He shouldn’t be making a lick of sense. Yet, he does. Maybe a little. Shhhh … don’t tell him I said that.

Clinging to what little bit of sanity I have left, I counter, “My tits are not for your enjoyment.” It’s a crappy comeback, I know, but my sarcasm well is nearly dried up.

Uncrossing his ankles and pushing off the fridge, Ryker stalks toward me with a purpose. My heart rate jacks up, palms sweating. What’s he doing?

Stopping toe-to-toe with me, or, in this case, my big belly touching his crotch area, he takes a slight step backward, disengaging our brief groin-belly hug and bends forward like he’s about to whisper something in my ear. Except, he… Down the front of my sweats his naughty hand goes, and wham bam, between my legs it delves. Shocked, I oust a startled gasp a second before two deft fingers glide between my wet folds, over my throbbing clit, and straight into home base with surprising ease. Guess it helps that I’m soaked. I shouldn’t be, but I am. It’s humiliating as hell. I’m mortified.

Turning my face so Ryker can’t see the bright singe of embarrassment, I wrap both hands around his thick forearm and try to yank him out of my pants. I don’t want him touching me there. What in the world is he thinking?!

The tug is futile when he presses his nose gently against my neck and inhales audibly. Nudging my bare feet apart with his boot, he opens my stance. I dumbly let him. What am I doing? I try to fight back and reclose my legs, only to be stopped when his knee finds its home smack dab in the center of them. As two of Ryker’s fingers hook inside my pussy, lightly caressing my g-spot, his other secures my waist, holding us together. Body heat seeping into body heat. Satisfied with our arrangement, he mumbles something under his breath before pressing a tender kiss below my ear.

“Re—remove your hand,” I demand weakly.

Instead of complying like a gentleman, Ryker pumps those two digits in and out of my sex, coaxing the walls of my pussy to clench around the delicious invaders. I bite back a lustful moan as my magical spot’s massaged on rhythmic repeat, never stopping nor increasing speed. Clutching his shoulders and squeezing my eyes shut, I forget where I am, and relish the blazing pleasure short-circuiting my weak brain.

Oh, god.

Ryker plants a much longer, wetter, sexier kiss to my neck where his scruff abrades my flesh, sending a wave of shivers to my toes. “Come on, my little Tiger. Let yourself go. Get rid of that fuckin’ hatred. Let me take it. Give it to me, sweetheart… That’s it. Milk my fuckin’ fingers,” he whispers hotly.

Groaning softly, I heed his words and willingly fall victim to the assault. My anger scatters, draining from my limbs as his rich, masculine scent intoxicates me, getting me drunk on lust. It’s been far too long since I’ve been touched like this. Nothing compares to the warm glide of someone else’s fingers pleasuring you. My shower head could never compare. Nothing could.

Logically, I know I should hit Ryker. Push him away. But this feels amazing, and I deserve some amazing. Something to make me forget. To make me feel good. Real good. Something… Fuck… Yes... In and out he moves with practiced precision, stimulating my g-spot with each pass, forcing my toes to curl.

Afraid my knees may buckle any second, I drop my forehead to his shoulder. More kisses are pressed. Soft moans fall from my lips as I forget my name, my age, my everything. White-hot pressure builds. The sloppy sound of my pussy being fingered serenades us alongside our heavy inhalations. My pulse thrums through my clit, into my core where Ryker drives me Fast and Furious style to the cliff’s edge.

“Oh. Ohhh,” I gasp.

“That’s it,” he encourages on a deep erotic groan, his fingers gripping my hip harder.

“I … I hate you. You … oh…” Another intense swipe against my spot and my knees give out completely.

One second, my stomach’s leaping up my throat as I stumble into my ex. The next, Ryker cradles me in his arms and sets my bottom on the ledge of the cool metal table where I ate. Without permission, he hooks his fingers into the top of my pants and shucks the oversized sweats down my legs before tossing them in a heap on the floor, leaving me instantly exposed. Instinctively, I cover my lady bits with both hands to hide the hideousness that I can no longer view since my belly has grown too large. Shaving blind with only my fingers to guide me is tricky. And let’s just say I haven’t taken a razor to that special part of my anatomy in a few weeks. The blonde bush has begun to regrow.

“Stop that,” Ryker admonishes with the firm shake of his head.

Wrapping his big mitts around my wrists, he eases them off my lady parts where he massages the underside with the pad of his thumb. The brisk air touches my wet folds. Goosebumps break out from shoulders to ankles. I suppress a shiver and jerk my hands out of his grasp to recover my chilly bits.

“Give me my pants back.”

With the dip of my forehead, I gesture toward my bottoms lying next to Ryker’s big booted feet on the floor.

“No.”

He kicks them further away, and I glare, eyebrows pinched, frowning severely. The expression makes my injuries ache, knocking my arousal down a notch. Thankfully.

“Yes. It’s cold up here.” The goosebumps covering my ass are so pissed they hurt. “We shouldn’t be doing this.” It’s about time my conscience catches the hell up.

Ignoring me, Ryker tugs his shirt over his head, revealing all those deliciously taut muscles and nipple piercings before he flips open his belt, undoes his jeans button, and rips the teeth of his zipper down.

“Wait. What are you doing? Stop it. Don’t—” I plead fruitlessly as Ryker hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his black Calvin Klein’s and shoves them, along with his pants, to his knees, exposing the tops of his corded thighs and a weeping erection that bobs.

Blinking owlishly, I quit gawking at the fine male specimen I vividly remember, and drop my gaze lower. There’s a newer tattoo covering the top of his left thigh. I stare at the colorful image for half a second before I realize there’s my name, Katrina, scrolled across a banner that wraps around the base of a realistic Siberian tiger face, complete with icy blue eyes. It’s extraordinarily lifelike.

“You have a tiger tattoo with my name,” I announce in astonishment. I can’t believe he had Katrina tattooed on his thigh. Right there for all to see. That takes some major guts. “When did you get that?” I point to said ink, keeping my other hand over my unkempt bits.

Ryker shrugs almost bashfully for whatever reason and strokes his length from root to tip. Using his thumb, he massages the pre-cum around his mushroom head before returning to stroke himself shamelessly, as if he has all the time in the world, not caring one iota that he’s standing in the middle of an industrial-sized kitchen inside an MC clubhouse where anyone can walk in and catch him wanking that rod. He takes a step closer, and I put my legs up to block his progression. The pads of my chilly feet press to the middle of his abs. They contract under my touch, and Ryker closes his eyes, jacking his meat harder. A moan rattles in his big chest, reopening the floodgates between my thighs. Hatred or not, his coarse moans are arousing. They always have been. There’s something special about a man who’s not afraid to talk dirty, or moan freely, letting you know his motor’s running hot for you and you alone. As much as I should hate this, it’s sorta flattering that he’s still hard given the way I look and how fat I am. I’ve never felt more beautiful than I do in this moment with his searing blue gaze trained on me. Pupils dilated. Chest heaving for oxygen.

Ryker licks his lips. “I got it the week you left Texas,” he finally answers, his voice chewed up gravel and whiskey. “That’s what ya do for the woman you love.”

“You don’t love me.” The words fly out of my mouth without a second thought. It’s true. He doesn’t. He’s never said love to me before. Not once. I’d remember.

“Don’t tell me who I love, Katrina,” he snarls, eyes blazing.

That’s total bullshit.

A ploy to get into my pants. To be a good little girl and follow him to Texas without putting up a fight.

Yeah right.

That tattoo doesn’t mean love. It could mean lots of things. Not that. I refuse to believe it.

“I’m not buyin’ it,” I return.

Ryker grimaces and stops fucking the tunnel of his fist. Growling in his throat, he bats my feet away and takes up residence between my parted thighs.

Oh. I don’t think so.

“Stop. Back up. I’m done.” I shove Ryker in the chest to keep him out of my personal space. It’s useless. The behemoth doesn’t budge an inch.

Securing my hips in a single practiced motion, he jerks me to the edge of the table, my ass half off the metal, peels my hand from my unmentionables, and before I can register what’s about to happen, he stuffs my neglected hole with his shaft. Pelvis wetly smashes pelvis as he buries himself to the hilt with an agonizing groan.

“Ohhh … G-g-god,” I groan alongside him, accommodating such girth.

So full.

So good.

Too good.

A heartbeat passes and my brain reconnects its crossed wires, reigniting my wick of fury.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I hiss, curling my hand into a fist and punching him square in the chest. A bright red mark blooms there. “I don’t want your c-cock in me,” I lie, delivering another blow.

Over and over, hollow thuds of my assault echo. Yet, Ryker takes what I unleash and returns the favor in kind by jackhammering my pussy harder and harder as time dissolves into nothing. Sweat beads on my brow from exertion. My fists begin to ache, and Ryker still carries on, unfazed by my brutality. As if he knows he deserves what I deliver and then some.

“I—I hate your stupidly perfect dick,” I whimper.

“Liar.”

“I—do.”

“You love it,” he rumbles.

“I hate—” Another slam and my eyes tip into my skull, severing my words.

His feral grunts fill the air.

Ryker’s own sweat dampens his handsome face and bald head.

A twinge of guilt coils in my chest for battering his flesh so badly it’s sure to bruise tomorrow. To stop myself from going further, I drop my hands to the edge of the table and curl my fingers over the lip to hold on.

“Touch me,” he begs. “Put those hands on my chest.”

“Never,” I return, as he adjusts himself to plow into my wetness faster. If only my traitorous body would stop this insanity. Instead, it rides the surge of unbelievable pleasure as he pistons himself in and out of me, owning me just how I remember.

A deluge of memories I have long tried to forget invades my brain. Memories of us screwing on the kitchen counter in my house. On the sofa. The back porch. The bathroom counter. In the back of my car. The restroom at Circle K. So much incredible sex with a man I thought I’d grow old with. Now here I am, losing myself to the same person who makes me feel both cherished and trashy in the same moment. A married man who got me into this mess. Who gave me beautiful children, and a shattered heart. The same person who’s lighting my soul on fire with each potent, heart rendering lunge.

No longer able to hold it, I moan and I moan and I moan, shamelessly succumbing to the wild onslaught.

“Yes. That’s it, baby. Take your pleasure from me,” Ryker encourages, bottoming out. “Your pussy feels so fuckin’ amazing.”

“Oh. Yes. So … gooood, ” I wail deliriously.

“I love this pussy,” he grates, driving home on ecstasy-laden repeat.

My eyes slide closed. Mouth hanging open to breathe. “It … it loves … you, too.”

“Tell me you want my cock,” Ryker demands.

Moaning like a whore and not giving a single damn, I reply, “I want it. I … oh … fuck. Yes! Give it to me. I need to come. Make me come, Ryker. P-please.”

Dropping his forehead to mine, I wrap my legs around Ryker’s hips as the first tear slips down my cheek. Another slam and I’m drowning—in him, in today, in this week, in life. Another drop treks downward as my body floats out of itself. Too much pleasure. Too much him. Too much us … tearing me apart at the seams.

Ryker’s hot breath wafts across my face. “Christ, I love you so fuckin’ much.” To punctuate his declaration he groans my name, sinking his fingers deeper into my hips that’ll surely leave marks.

I’ll love you forever. My double-crossing heart sings in silent riposte, battering my ribs.

A scrap of hope clings to the underbelly of that traitorous organ, touched by his admission. I try to will it away, but there it stays, acting as a lifeline. Whether I believe him or not, it’s the first time he’s said he loves me aloud. It’s a moment I’ll never forget.

More tears leak out of the corners of my eyes. Ryker either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as he whispers sweet nothings to me.

“I’m never lettin’ you go, ever again,” he husks, and that’s all it takes for my walls to clench around his cock.

“Ryker!” I scream, throwing my head back as a tsunami of ecstasy rips me apart, only to stitch me back together again as the crest of another orgasm takes control.

Painfully gripping the table for support, my chest thrusts toward the ceiling. Slack-jawed, incoherent noises slip free as I ride the white caps of waning rapture. The blood in my ears thrums, drowning out the world. My muscles feel lighter. The weight on my shoulders gone. I feel invincible.

“What are you doing!?” A blood-curdling screech vibrates off the walls, jolting me back into the present by tossing a bucket of ice cold Vanessa on my endorphin high.

My eyes pop open and I right myself as Ryker continues to own my pussy as if he doesn’t hear the ruckus. Right inside the kitchen door stands his wife, arms locked at her sides. A flash of anger washes over her impeccably made-up face before her glossed bottom lip juts into a pout. I bet she’s wearing false lashes. Those are way too long and black to be hers. Add the designer jeans and a fancy maternity shirt that showcases her tight bump, and she’s the perfect picture of a flawless pregnant woman. If you buy into that idealistic horse shit all those parenting magazines try to sell you with their glowing complexions and tiny bellies. Along with cream that doesn’t stop stretch marks. And gadgets that are supposed to make you a better parent and have a happier baby. I’ll bet ya five bucks she has all that expensive, useless junk on her registry. Nope. I’m not bitter at all. I love my Walmart bouncer and playpen. Who needs a Gucci chest carrier when all I need is a knockoff Moby wrap and five minutes to secure it in place? Don’t forget, fancy belly creams are so last season. My badass tiger stripes are here to stay. Rawr.

Uh … I’m deflecting, aren’t I?

Shaking my head to clear it, Vanessa decides she can’t stop her verbal barrage. “Ryker! Ry-ker!”

Again, he continues to plow my wet pussy. It seems to be having just as much fun. Zings of pleasure flutter through my sex. If he doesn’t slow down, I’m gonna come again, and this time, in front of his wife. I don’t want that.

Feral eyes glazed over, nostrils flaring as sweat pours down his reddened face, Ryker drowns in the moment. I cup his cheek to rouse him a bit. He nuzzles into my palm like a lion, then turns his face and kisses me there. His perspiration dampens my hand, but I can’t seem to care.

“Ryker?” I whisper breathily, and he blinks. A crooked smile lights up his entire face just for me, turning my insides to goo. He’s breathtaking.

“Yeah, Tiger?” he mutters.

“Stop fucking her!” Vanessa screams, bursting our brief intimacy bubble with a needle.

The smile slips from Ryker’s face, and he slowly cranks his head in her direction. An inhuman snarl percolates in his massive chest as his lip curls aggressively. “Get. The. Fuck. Out!” he booms. “You. Don’t. Need. To. Be. In. Here!”

Releasing one of my hips, Ryker two finger points toward the door, his blue beauties narrowed in irritation. Yet, he doesn’t stop that still hard cock from entering me. I bite back a moan as my g-spot starts to tingle. Oh no. This is it. I’m gonna come again. He has to quit moving. No. No. No. I can’t do this in front of her. I open my mouth to beg him to stop. Only it’s too late. A strangled cry expels from my lungs and my pussy clamps down on his thickness. Closing my eyes, I shut out the madness and allow the calm wave of euphoria to wash over me like the finest silk. On and on like a babbling brook, my orgasm ebbs and flows, growing more powerful by the second. Digging my heels into Ryker’s firm ass, I writhe.

“That’s it,” he encourages, a sharp edge to his voice.

Struggling to pull air into my lungs, my stomach tightens, and I curl into myself, gripping Ryker’s shoulders for support. Dear God, why won’t it stop? It’s been so freaking long since this has happened, I forgot it could.

“Ryker,” I rasp.

“Keep comin’ for me, baby. That’s it. Let’s see how long I can make it last.”

“I … I…”

Sinking my nails into his flesh, my forehead rests on his slick chest. Ryker grunts. Violently pitching his hips, my bare ass screeches across the table, moving back an inch or two as our pelvises crash together.

Vanessa’s high-pitched complaints are no match for what’s happening inside my body, mind, and soul. I shudder and moan as ripples of pleasure intoxicate every cell. Ryker’s arms wrap around my shoulders in a loving embrace as he pilots the never-ending assault on my cunt. More clenching. Babbling. Sweat. Unfocused eyes. Ecstasy. Ecstasy. Ecstasy. It envelopes every nook of my being. Soon, I can’t tell what’s right side up. My body’s no longer my own. It’s his. I bite Ryker’s pec to keep from screaming as the muscles in my quaking thighs seize, and my toes flex. It’s too much. He has to stop. I can’t take it anymore.

“Not much longer, baby,” he whispers sweetly to the top of my head as if he knows I’m about to crumble into a heap of nothingness. “I’ve got you.”

“I … can’t.”

“You. Can.” He’s determined. “Your pussy’s still milkin’ me so fuckin’ good. She’ll stop when she wants. She’s not ready to let me go, yet. And my dick needs her to keep on comin’. You need this.”

Tears start to spill in rapid fire. Or perhaps they’ve been constant, and I didn’t realize. A sob clogs my trachea as I survive the most intense orgasm of my existence.

Slowing his momentum, knowing just what I need and when, Ryker draws my orgasm to a bone-melting close. Stuffing his face into my sweaty hair, breath heating my scalp, he pecks me there, buries himself to the hilt, and freezes before the first jet of warm cum bathes my sex. Choking on a moan, a tremor seizes Ryker as he empties the rest of his seed.

“Kat,” he grits, holding me close, his cock flexing deep inside. “Fuck. Kat. Fuck. Fuuuck.”

A lazy smile tugs at my injured lip. That was incredible. Utter perfection.

My boneless legs drop from around his hips, dangling over the edge of the table. A tender sort of warmth curls around my heart, and I sigh a happy little sigh. Extracting my nails from his skin, I try to move away. Only, Ryker doesn’t let me. He holds me like he used to after sex. As if I’m the only person in the world that matters.

A lingering kiss is pressed to my forehead this time. “Damn. I missed you,” he whispers in awe, catching his breath.

Unsure if I should repeat the sentiment, I say nothing and bask in the glow of post-coital bliss. Which lasts all of ten seconds when I realize we’re being watched. Out of the corner of my eye stands a red-faced Vanessa about to blow another gasket.

Ryker continues to ignore her presence and nuzzles his nose to my damp hairline. “I’m gonna pull out, and we’re gonna make a big mess.”

I chuckle knowingly.

“Ready?” he asks.

I nod giddily. “Y-yes.”

Groaning in unison, he slips his still hard shaft from my hole. Quick as a whip, I cover it with my hand to keep the cum from running everywhere. Ryker picks his discarded shirt from the floor, peels my hand from between my legs, and presses the cotton there for me to clean up. I wipe my sticky fingers on the fabric and hold it to my overused pussy.

Taking a step back, Ryker rakes his hooded gaze up and down my relaxed form in appreciation. A kaleidoscope of butterflies take flight in my belly, and I giggle like a school girl, beaming at him, regardless of the pain. Not even Vanessa’s disapproving, heartbroken expression could ruin this for me. I’m too damn calm to care. Once upon a time, the guilt of sleeping with another woman’s man would eat me in two. With her, I could care less. Rats don’t deserve my sympathy. They don’t deserve anything. Not after what I’ve gone through this past week. Self-preservation’s a wicked bitch.

Vanessa clears her throat once, twice, three times.

Slotting himself between my thighs, half-hard cock and balls swinging, Ryker lays a palm on the top of my stomach then leans into peck my uninjured cheek. “That was great, as always. We should do it again sometime.” He winks, and my heart goes berserk at the adorable gesture.

“Um.”

I lift my chin in Vanessa’s direction. It’s not exactly comfortable confessing how great it really was. It’ll put too much hope in my heart. And I can’t give him that kinda power. Years ago, I trusted him. That trust has long wilted and died. Sex is sex. The sweetness, the affection, all of it, isn’t something I can return. Not if I wish to keep my iron-clad strength. It’s always been me and my girls against the world. A few tender, wall destroying moments during sex isn’t going to change that fact.

Pushing at Ryker’s shoulder, he steps back, and I hop down off the table, my bare feet slapping the floor. As I retrieve my sweatpants and slip them on, Ryker tucks himself back into his jeans and faces off with Vanessa, who still hasn’t moved an inch.

“When I asked you to leave, you should’ve left,” he admonishes.

Taking this as my cue to leave, I set his cum soaked shirt by the sink and shuffle around Ryker and Vanessa, headed for the exit.

“This isn’t over,” he calls to my retreating back.

“It never is,” I mumble under my breath, refusing to let Vanessa’s sneer get to me. I have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing.

Into the hallway I pad, where I breathe a little easier. In my wake, an argument ensues. Despite the need to get far, far away from them, I pause to eavesdrop.

“You fucked her!” Vanessa yells loud enough the entire clubhouse can hear.

“So?” Ryker returns smugly.

“Right in front of me.”

“I told you to leave. Ya didn’t listen. I was busy takin’ care of what’s mine. And that pussy’s mine. So I’m gonna take care of it if I want, and there’s not a fuckin’ thing you’re gonna say right now to change that.”

More butterflies flap as I press my back against the hall wall, slide down it until I’m sitting on my bottom, pull my knees up, and close my eyes as I shamefully listen.

“I-I’m y-your wife,” Vanessa heart-wrenchingly sobs.

My gut absorbs the hit like she’s speaking directly to me. Threading my fingers through my hair, potent guilt starts to claw its way out of the gutter. I shouldn’t care. She deserves it. I loved him before her. He was mine for years. We have kids together. I’m not a bad person. I’m not. I don’t owe her anything. Right? I don’t. Do I?

God. Why does my heart hurt all of a sudden? It feels like it’s cracking down the center. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to walk out of there with my head held high without an ounce of remorse. Why does my conscience hate me so much?

I inhale a deep lungful of air. It’s not enough so I pull another. Then another, until I’m on the verge of a panic attack. My hands begin to shake.

“By law only,” Ryker replies.

“I’m carrying your child,” she cries helplessly.

Another blow is delivered to my innards as guilt-ridden tears start to pour. I know her pain well. Ryker tore me apart when he left. Ripped me to shreds, so I was left a shell for a short while, and he’s doing the same to her because of me. It’s all my fault. Why did I let him touch me? Why couldn’t I say no? Why can’t I ever say no? I’m not weak. There’s a functioning brain inside this head. Yet, here I am, weeping in a hallway as I listen to my ex and his wife fight because of me. Rat or not. Hatred or not. She’s his wife. Why do I keep dismissing that fact? He never married me. I wasn’t special enough. He never said he loved me until today. Why? Because I wasn’t important enough. He never fought with me like he is with her. Why? Because he never stuck around long enough for us to fight for our love. He left to protect me, according to him. Left, because his job was finished and he needed to be there for the club. For his dad. His brother. Familial ties are strong. I get it. I’m a mother. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my girls. For family.

On and on, for what feels like ages, they bicker about their relationship, me, the club, lies, her love for him, their baby, mine. Vanessa cries through the entire ordeal, begging him to keep her, to love her, to forgive her. And just when I think my stomach can’t take another punch, Ryker’s tone softens and he’s soothing her. She sniffles, and I know they’re embracing like husband and wife. Gentle words are exchanged. The wet smack of a kiss echoes, wrecking my soul all over again.

My stomach revolts and I grit my teeth to keep my agonizing whimpers to a minimum. Damn pregnancy hormones. I don’t want anyone to hear me out here. They mustn’t know.

“What the fuck are you doin’?” Kade’s cross voice startles me, and I nearly jump outta my skin. Jerking my head up, my skull collides with the wall on accident.

Ouch!

Stomping his way down the corridor, Kade comes to stand in front of me, his face a mask of fury.

Massaging the back of my head, I shrug a single shoulder, so very very tired of my life—of everything. I need sleep, a big bag of chocolate, and a month in the Bahamas sipping virgin pina coladas.

“Punishing myself,” I reply solemnly.

Kade kneels, clad in a pair of jeans, a light blue t-shirt, and his cut. His palms cup my knees. Looking up at him with tear stained eyes, I swipe the remaining wetness from my face. His angry expression melts into one of concern. “You can’t do this to yourself.” His fingertip traces down my undamaged cheek.

Sure I can.

“We had sex,” I confess.

“I know.”

“You knew?”

“Yes.”

I nod thoughtfully, letting his words sink in. “Did you know about Ryker forcing me to move to Texas, too?” My eyes lock on his. There’s a grimace and a twitch. The hand on my knee fidgets, officially giving himself away, and by doing so, delivering the last hit my overwrought system can withstand. I can’t take this anymore. It’s too much.

This is the last time I let anyone mess with me or my head ever again.

Fisting my hands, knuckles pressing against the cool floor, my internal walls restack brick by brick, turning to steel with every exhale.

One second, Kade nods regretfully; the next, my leg grows a mind of its own and propels my foot into his groin.

“Oaf,” Kade expels, falling onto his ass before rolling onto his side as he grabs his nuts and groans.

I wanna feel sorry for hurting him. I do. Though, I can’t. How dare he know about Texas and not tell me! I thought we were friends. Best friends. It’s one thing for Ryker to be a douche nugget. I expect that. Now Kade, too? Is there anyone in this world I can trust anymore? Anyone who isn’t going to hurt my heart, or steal my children away without my consent?

Scrambling to my feet, I sprint up the hall as fast as a waddling pregnant lady can. Rounding the corner, I toss over my shoulder, “Why does everyone think they can control my fucking life? And here I thought I could trust you of all people.”

Screw this. It’s time to fix my life. And I’ll be damned if I trust anyone but myself to do it.

Kat

Reaching both of my arms into my dresser drawer, I heft a mountain of folded clothes out and toss them onto my mattress with a strained grunt. In the middle of my bed, face up, lies my new cell phone, provided by Big Dick. It’s on speaker mode so I can bitch to my dad as I prepare to pack my bags and the girls’ for our unfortunate move to Texas. At least they won’t have snow on the ground there. It’s colder than a witch’s tit here today. Thankfully, the fleece maternity leggings and oversized sweater I changed into when we got here is enough to keep me toasty.

“You don’t have to pack all of your belongings, peanut,” Dad reminds for the umpteenth time.

“I know, Dad. But I don’t have a job anymore, so it’s not like I can pay for anything new once the baby’s born.” With dramatic flair, I toss the clothes I don’t want to pack on the floor, and shove the rest into the corner of my mattress. When I’m finished, I’m gonna stuff the stack of clothing into my luggage. I’m too pissed to fold anything. As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t matter if I have wrinkly stuff or not. It’s not like anyone’s gonna see me wearing them anyhow, aside from my girls or Dad. The rest of the men are dead to me. They can shove their opinions up their asses.

“I’ve got money, Kat,” Ryker interjects from the doorway where he leans against the jamb, arms crossed, sad eyes cast on the floor like a lost puppy. In the corner, Kade stands similar to his brother except his bowie knife is out, and there’s a fresh hole in my wall from the blade. Lovely. Another thing I’m not looking forward to fixing when I return home.

Afraid of letting my guard down again for even a second, I ignore Ryker. It’s not all that difficult. Especially since I was informed on the drive over that not only were we leaving tonight, but Vanessa will be riding with us. Ryker prattled on about not trusting her to fly home by herself, so we gotta babysit her. Blah. Blah. Blah. Frankly, I think he’s lying and wants her to ride along because she’s his wife, but he doesn’t have the gonads to tell me that. Honesty has never been his forte.

“Don’t talk to her, you dumbfuck!” Dad seethes, and I can’t help but grin triumphantly at the asshole.

Dad’s not done. “My money’s what’ll be takin’ care of my girls. Mine. It’s bad enough she’s gonna be livin’ in your cabin. She doesn't need your money, too. All you Knox men think us Remingtons can’t live without you. Well, let me tell ya somethin’. We’re tough as nails, and I’m not lettin’ any of you motherfuckers take care of my kid and grandbabies.”

Pride swells in my chest. That’s right. We Remingtons are gonna stick together. Fuck the Knoxs. Not literally. Granted, Dad and I kinda already have considering Bear’s his man, and Ryker’s sired three of my children. Perhaps I should consider a better choice of words next time.

Turning on my heel, I heft another drawer of clothing onto the bed to sift through. “You still mad at Bear?” I ask Dad.

“Fuck yes, I am. He locked me in the basement.”

“It was for your own good,” Kade mumbles low enough that my dad doesn’t hear.

I shoot him a glare. He presses his lips together, hiding his mopey eyes, scuffs his booted toe on the floor, and runs the edge of his knife down his forearm, careful not to cut himself. Per usual, Kade’s knives come out to play when his equilibrium’s rocked. He tried to apologize numerous times today for not telling me last night about Texas, but I refuse to forgive him quite yet. Normally, I’m the level headed one. The person who forgives, and thinks logically without raising her voice, or acting like a mental patient. One of these days that Kat will return. Until then, whatever I’ve become is controlling this body, and I’m too stressed to care otherwise. If I was my usual self, I’d hug Kade right now, playfully call him Dickcheese, and tell him I love his stupid face. However, that person is hidden beneath this film of anger, and the anger is begging me to bring them both to their knees.

“Are you gonna freeze him out?” Scrunching my nose up at an ugly yellow shirt I didn’t realize I still owned, I toss it into the overflowing trash bin next to my bed. Blonde hair and yellow shirts never mesh. Wanna bet my mom bought that hideous thing for me from the dollar rack at Walmart?

“Sorta,” Dad replies.

“Has he apologized?”

“Yes. He did. Right after I beat the shit outta the two brothers left to babysit me. He didn’t want any more broken bones.”

I can only imagine what that means. But I’ve got too much on my plate to ask. What’s done is done.

“Are you sure that’s the only reason he’s sorry?”

As much as I wanna be on Dad’s side when it comes to Bear, I can’t be. At least not fully. Bear did what he thought was right. Just as Dad did when he faked his death and joined the Sacred Sinners. That hurt me, yet he still did it. Just as Bear locked Dad in the basement, knowing it’d hurt him and he’d have consequences to face later. Thankfully, this’ll blow over at some point. They’re too much in love for it not to.

“No. I know he’s sorry. He thought he was makin’ the right call. And he did help save you. But that doesn’t make me wanna bust his balls any less, though. I’m his VP. And you don’t lock your VP in the basement, ever.”

“That’s true. Well, you don’t steal someone’s kids and take them to Texas without your permission either. It looks like both of us drew the short straw.”

“A-fuckin’-men, peanut. Listen, I’m real sorry about the girls. I didn’t know they were gonna pull that. Ya don’t get all the deets when you’re arguin’ with your prez. I was too busy cussin’ him out, and tellin’ him all the mean shit I’m gonna do with him when he gets home.”

Even though Dad can’t see me, I hold my hands up in a pleading gesture. “Don’t tell me. I don’t wanna know,” I squeak. My mind, from reading way too many BDSM novels, has a pretty vivid imagination when it comes to punishment. The last thing I want is kinky confirmation.

Dad chuckles throatily. “I’m not. No worries. So how much more packin’ ya gotta do?”

Surveying the room, the two suitcases open on the floor, and the drawers that are still full of clothes, my shoulders sag in defeat. “A lot.”

“Stop worryin’ about it. When you get here, we’ll do some online shoppin’ and get all you need. I’ll buy the new grandbaby a bed. Get some fancy girl shit for Rox and Scarlett. You don’t have to pack the irrelevant stuff. Just grab your pictures, mementos, and whatnot, and forget the rest. It’s not goin’ anywhere.”

Running my fingers through my freshly washed hair, my gut clenches. There’s no way I can leave all this behind. It’s bad enough I have to rely on someone to feed the girls and me. Clothes and other essentials are too much to ask. Nobody takes care of us but me. “I can’t, Dad.”

“Don’t be silly, Katrina. You can. I know it’s hard. You’ve been independent since you were a baby. But we’re family. And I’ve got a lot of years to make up for.”

True.

Sighing, I rub the baby who’s decided its gymnastics time in mommy’s belly. A bump here, another there. Smiling to myself, I let my little one bleed the tension from my muscles. She’s good at that. An internal miracle worker, if you will. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Ryker sneakily observing me massage this big ole tummy over my comfy, teal maternity shirt that Rox says matches my eyes. If I wasn’t so disgusted with him half the time, I might find his attention flattering like I used to.

Instead, I pivot my body toward him, lift my shirt a little, while pretending he’s invisible, and prod the underside of my bump, where baby girl number three is trouncing my bladder. If she’s not careful, I’m liable to pee a little. Guess I should go to the restroom before that happens.

“I’ll think about it, Dad. But for now, I gotta potty and finish up what I do need to bring. I’ll text you when we hit the road. And please take care of my girls when they get there.”

“Those girls are gonna be spoiled before ya get here. Hell. I’m gonna bribe them with so many goodies they’ll never wanna leave.”

Shaking my head, smiling broadly as I chuckle, I finish up with Dad by exchanging love yous. Once finished, he cuts the call and I abandon the phone on the bed for more pressing matters. Namely, my close to exploding bladder.

Pushing Ryker’s hard shoulder, he silently moves out of my way, and I slip into the bathroom to go about my business. Through the wall I overhear Ryker and Kade talking.

“You do know Kat’s mad at me because of you,” Kade declares.

“You didn’t have to tell her that you knew,” Ryker retorts.

“Right. Lie. Just like you. Sorry, but that’s not my thing, bro. That’s yours. Ya know what, she deserves so much better than you. You fucked her in the kitchen in front of your wife. Who does that? Then let her leave so she could sit in the hallway and listen to you babying your old lady. You are the most selfish person on the planet. Sometimes I can’t believe you’re my fucking brother. You disgust me.” There’s a loud hacking noise.

“Did you just spit at me?!” Ryker roars.

Oh my god. This is hilarious. Dickcheese just earned himself fifteen brownie points for that speech. And another two for spitting at Ryker. If I didn’t find spitting nauseating, I’d give him a hundred points for creativity.

I cover my mouth to keep from laughing out loud as a thunderous bang echoes followed by a string of expletives. The wall vibrates as someone slams into it, knocking my flower painting off center. Great. It was funny while it lasted, but the last thing I need is a destroyed house. They’re grown men for crying out loud.

Quick to finish, I flush and wash my hands before pausing to take a gander in the mirror at my unrecognizable face, full of deep purplish bruises and this ugly line of stitches. Gently, I touch the raised injury and suppress a wince. The bruising’s gotten worse since this morning when I showered after the Kade racking incident. Blinking twice, I stow away my vortex of confused emotions, about-face, and march out of the restroom to break up the brawl.

Inside my bedroom, Ryker has Kade on the ground in a headlock. “Quit fighting me, you dumbass. That’s not gonna solve anything.”

Kade slams his fist into Ryker’s stomach, doubling him over, gaining Kade the upper hand. The headlock’s reversed, and Kade’s not holding back. Ryker’s face turns bright red, the muscles in his neck bulging as his brother squeezes the hell out of him. Yet, Ryker doesn’t attempt to disengage the hold. If anything, he lets his brother seize control for whatever reason.

Strange.

Not worried that either of these Neanderthals are gonna kill each other, I relax my shoulder against the door frame and hook my hand on my hip. “Are you two done? I’ve gotta finish packing.”

Kade grins up at me like a sadistic monster, his front teeth smeared with blood, nose trickling crimson. “You sure you don’t want me to kill him, Watermelon tits?” He winks playfully.

Unable to help it, I crack my own flattered grin and shake my head at the adorable, violent brute. “I’m all for you defending my honor, Kade. Truly. But killing my daughters’ father isn’t gonna solve anything.”

“Okay. Whatever ya say, boss.” He shrugs indifferently and releases Ryker, who drops to all fours and repeatedly hack coughs until his airway clears. Shoving off his knee, Kade swipes the blood from his nose with the back of his hand and wipes it on his jeans. Gross.

Scurrying back into the bathroom, I snatch the tissues off the top of the toilet and hand the box to Kade when I return. “Don’t wipe any more of that on your clothes. You’ll look like an ax murderer,” I chide in my motherly tone.

Kade nods.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, he doctors up his nose as I kneel beside Ryker on the floor. I press my palm to his middle back with concern. “You good?”

“Yup,” he rasps. “G-go ahead and finish pa-cking.” Another fit of coughing ensues.

“You want some water?” I offer.

Ryker jerks his head from side to side. “D-don’t worry about me.”

That’s easier said than done. He didn’t even fight his brother in return. He merely tried to reel in the situation before it got too out of control. That definitely sounds like something I’d do. More so than him.

“You sure? It’s really no problem,” I double check because my gut’s telling me to. She’s an overbearing bitch.

Ryker shrugs off my hand and drops back onto his haunches. Lifting his shirt, he swipes the sweat from his face, and gives me a rippling ab show in the process. Complete with a glittering nipple ring that makes a rather enticing appearance, and a surface knife wound from fighting. Man. That silver is sexy as fuck. I never found nipple piercings all that attractive on men before. Probably because I don’t think of men in general. Unless they’re fictional hotties inside books with huge dicks. Wonder what he’d do if I sucked on it a little. Not much. Just a tiny nibble, and maybe a three-second suck. Think he’d like it? Mmm…

Ashamed of myself, I squeeze my eyes shut to quit staring.

Sweet baby corn Jesus, I’m an idiot. One second I’m feelin’ horrible about having sex with my ex. The next I’m ogling the goods. I’ve gotta stop this crap. It’d help if he was fugly and a couch potato in bed. Unfortunately, that’s not the case. Damn those pecs, abdominals, big biceps, tattoos, pretty blue eyes, and cum gutters that bring all the girls to the yard.

Going about my business, I press my hand to the bed frame to help lift my fat, pregnant ass off the floor. Counterbalancing your weight when you’re carrying most of it out front isn’t easy.

Leaving both men to their devices, I get back to packing. Reaching across the bed, I drag the pile of clothes to me and lift the load into my arms. It’s so high it touches my chin, so I use that part of my body to help wrangle the heap. Taking a few steps, I drop the rainbow of colors into the luggage, which was knocked to the wayside during the brotherly brawl. Shirts fall half on the ground, half in the unfolded mess. Pants and other pieces do the same. Not giving a single fuck, I lift my barefoot and stomp that shit down until it seems to fit for the most part.

“Ya know, if you folded those you could get more in the suitcase,” Ryker remarks calmly, as though he’s not being a sarcastic prick while perching himself on the ledge of my dresser like he owns the damn thing. Nobody sits on that. Not even me. I wouldn’t be able to hoist my big butt up there anyhow without smacking my face on the mirror.

Slapping his leg out of the way, I tug another drawer out and set it on the bed. “Ya know, you could go sit in the kitchen. I don’t need your commentary to pack,” I sass.

He chuckles. “Sure I could. But I wouldn’t get to watch you pack those sexy panties.”

Glaring over my shoulder at the smug bastard, I lift a pair of black lace boy shorts and slingshot them toward the trash bin. His eyes widen in horror at my boldness. “What the fuck did ya do that for? Those are perfectly fine to take with you.”

“Uh huh. If I wanna feel sexy. I think these are much more suited for Texas.”

Hooking a pair of ugly cotton maternity underwear on my fingertip, I fling them into my empty suitcase, watching Ryker’s expression the entire time. It’s tight. His arms are crossed. The corner of his full bottom lip is swollen slightly from roughhousing. He’s not liking this so much after all. Ha. Serves him right. It’s not like he’ll see me in these underwear anyhow. I don’t plan to have a repeat of today. Once was enough. Twice, and I don’t think my poor heart could survive it.

“Wanna go sit in the kitchen now?” I tease, arching a challenging brow before batting my eyelashes and winking.

Kade snickers in the corner where he’s re-stationed himself. At least his knives are stowed for now. He’s busy typing away on his phone. Probably talking to his next hook up. Priming her pussy for when he gets home.

“I’m still not leavin’. You’re not gonna scare me away that easily,” Ryker taunts, returning my wink.

Challenge accepted.

One-by-one, each pair of luxurious panties are discarded with flourish as the well-worn, comfy cottons are balled up and shot into the suitcase like a basketball.

“Swish.” I shake my booty as another one joins its breathable sisters.

“Are ya done?” Ryker grumbles, displeased.

Flipping around to face him, my long locks whip through the air with attitude. In my hand, I hold a pair of red lace bikinis that I’ve worn twice. Who wants to constantly pick underwear outta the crack of their ass if they’re not getting laid anyhow? Surely not me. I reserved these puppies for the rare night on the town with my coworkers. We’d hit up a local bar. I’d rock my black pencil skirt, heels, my signature black-rimmed glasses, and a cleavage top that made me the object of every man’s hot librarian fantasy. Real life spank bank material. At least that’s what Rea said. I didn’t see it. And it’s not like I ever got fucked. There were a few offers, sure. Just none that I could stomach long enough to kiss, let alone play hide the sausage.

To torment Ryker a little further, I stretch the waistband of the bikinis using both my thumbs, and suspend them eye level to give him a chance to appreciate the fine Victoria Secret craftsmanship up close and personal. You can see straight through the lace from ass to front. “Such a shame. These were my try-to-get-laid underwear. Guess they didn’t work very well. What do you think? Are they nice enough to get me laid?” God. I’m bad. Very very bad. This isn’t fair. I know. But I can’t help myself.

Ryker scrubs a palm down his face. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself.

Kade chuckles again, clearly enjoying my liberating panty show.

I smile innocently to keep up the rouse. “Well?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, Ryker closes his eyes, takes in a deep lungful of air, and releases it with a sigh. “You don’t need lace panties to get laid, Kat.”

“What ever do you mean?”

I play the dumb blonde part well. This is a boatload of fun. It’s much better than arguing, being kidnapped, or dealing with Vanessa. I’d go as far as to say this is one of the highlights of my week thus far. Aside from reconnecting with my daughters for a few short minutes … and … the … well … you know. But let’s not bring that up again. Deal?

Ryker adjusts something banana shaped in his jeans. “Y-you can’t talk about sex,” his southern rough and tumble voice cracks.

Cocking my head to the side, I pout my bottom lip as much as I can without it hurting. “Why not?”

“You’re not this dumb, Katrina. Please stop acting like an airhead.”

“Airheads are people, too,” I defend.

“Yes. Well, you’re not one of them. So stop this…” He tosses his hand in the air. “Whatever this is you’re doin’.”

Oooo. He’s flustered. Big time.

Lowering the red lace, I ball it in my fist, take a step in his direction, and carefully set the undies on his knee before retreating. Ryker gapes at the gift, but doesn’t touch it. “I asked you a question, hotshot. That’s all I did. You wanted to watch me pack instead of sit in the kitchen. And since this is my house, it’s my duty to be a gracious host, so I’m trying to carry on a conversation.” Lie. Lie. Lie. I’m such a big, fat liar.

By the brief scrunched up, dirty expression Ryker shoots me, I can tell he’s not even close to believing my phony story. Oh well. I tried. It was fun while it lasted.

“Try again,” he says, quickly snatching the lace from his knee and tucking it into his pocket before I can steal it back.

I do a little jig on the inside. He’s gonna keep those. I just know it. It’s all good. I don’t mind. They were gonna be trashed anyhow.

“Try what again?” I ask, honestly not sure what he means.

“If you wanna give me your spiel, you gotta make it more believable than that. I’m givin’ ya a do-over, so get to it.” Ryker snaps his fingers twice like he’s resetting time. What an adorably sexy idiot, all flirty grin and sparkling irises lighting his face. He’s toying with me. Provoking.

Rolling my eyes, I hook both hands on my hips for flare. If he wants a spiel, I’ll give him a damn spiel. Time to be blunt. “You’re uncomfortable with me talking about sex because it makes you hard. ‘Cause that’s either a banana in your pocket, or you’re happy to see me.” A bomb goes off on Ryker’s cheeks, turning them insta-red. He shifts on the dresser, looks away, and covers said banana with both palms.

I’m not done. “Don’t think I forgot lace panties turn you on. Always have. They get your fat dick so hard you could pound nails.”

Ryker groans erotically, and so does Kade. Super. Arousal was not my goal. Undeterred, I keep going. “So when I asked if I needed lace panties to get laid, you said I don’t. And I asked why. Simple as that. I didn’t ask you to stay in here, mister. I didn’t ask for you to move me to Texas. I didn’t ask for any of this. All I want is to be left alone. But that’s not gonna happen, now is it? Nope. So I’m throwin’ my pretty underwear out in hopes it’ll prevent you from wanting what happened today to happen again. There’s no reason for me to feel sexy in Texas. None. Nada. That ship has sailed, along with my normal sized ankles, and flattish belly. And while I’m tossing the garments out, who says I can’t have a little fun in the meantime?” There. How’s that for truth?

Hands perched on hips, I wait and I wait and I wait some more for him to reply. Only he doesn’t. Ryker continually fidgets. The concealed bulge becomes less concealable. His chest pistons faster as his respirations increase. Still, he won’t look at me. And just when I feel he might, there’s a knock at the front door.

Not waiting for Ryker to climb out of whatever stupor he’s in, I exit my bedroom to see who’s outside. Entering the living room from the hall, my floor suddenly begins to vibrate beneath my feet as the sound of motorcycle boots clomping their way out of my room echo through the small house like a cattle drive. What the ever-lovin' fuck? I pause momentarily next to my couch, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Then I take a tentative step toward the door when another knock resounds. An arm wraps around my chest from behind and whirls me in the opposite direction. Ryker covers my mouth with his big mitt and drags me back up the hallway, and into the bathroom as though I weigh nothing. Elbowing him in the solar plexus, I curse him unsuccessfully for manhandling me. Yet, he doesn’t let go.

Kade pokes his head in the restroom. “I’m gonna get the door.” He flashes us his big Bowie and smiles wickedly before securing it behind his back. Sheesh. That man and his knives.

Ryker carefully peels his hand off my mouth, his giant erection poking me in the spine. Wonderful.

“Shhh. Be quiet,” he whispers.

“What’s your problem?” I whisper back, nervous as hell.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to recognize Kade and Ryker are concerned about who’s on the porch. Granted, there are three Sacred Sinners stationed outside. That’s why I wasn’t worried about answering it. My gut says I’m safe. So I believe her. Could she be just as ignorant about this as me? Or, are my guys that overprotective?

Ryker palms my tit, pressing my back firmly against his front to ‘protect’ me. Slipping two fingers beneath his pinky, pretending to enjoy our closeness, I get a decent hold on the little digit and yank it backward. Ryker howls in pain and releases my boob. I wriggle out of his embrace to sit on the closed toilet lid. He glares down at me, massaging his poor pinky. At least I was nice enough not to dislocate or break it. Trust me, my dad taught me well. Consider him lucky.

“You don’t know who’s out there. You shouldn’t have tried to open the door by yourself,” he scolds.

“It’s not my fault you were too busy bein’ embarrassed, and Kade was playin’ on his phone. It’s not like there aren’t three of Big’s crew out there. He promised me he’d only send the best to protect me while I packed today. And I don’t take him as someone who lies.”

Before I left the compound, Big approached me. I can’t lie and say it wasn’t a bit intimidating. However, he was the perfect gentleman when he personally apologized for what happened to me, and promised, hand held over his heart and all, that he’d do his best to protect me and my kids no matter what. There are very few men in this world who I’d take that vow seriously from. He’s definitely one of them. You can tell by looking at the giant, that he’s not gonna feed you a line of bullshit and hang you out to dry. He means business. That’s why I agreed to ride in the SUV with Ryker and Kade. And felt safe doing it, because there were three large guys on motorcycles surrounding us the entire journey. One leading, and the other two taking the rear. If that’s not power, I dunno what is.

“Who the fuck are you?” Kade snaps.

There’s an exchange of hushed words that I can’t interpret, a bang, and a brief scuffle, followed by a very pissed Kade shouting. “Get the hell off me!”

Ryker and I exchange curious looks before he walks cautiously to the doorway, still nursing his finger. I step up behind him, eager to see what’s happening.

“Get off me, bitch!” Kade booms irately. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

A woman’s twinkly laughter flitters through the house.

It’s so cute it makes me smile even if I shouldn’t.

Eyes forward, Ryker curves his arm around his back and pats our unborn daughter with three fingers. “You can follow me out. But stay behind me.”

“Okay,” I agree, because I know if I don’t, we’re gonna have another fight.

Slowly, way too slowly if ya ask me, he steps out of the bathroom into the hallway. I’m right on his tail as we make our way toward the living room. A cold draft engulfs the space the closer we get.

“Let me up,” Kade commands.

“Not until you calm down, Kade Knox,” the woman’s airy voice replies, sounding level headed.

No warning bells ding in my brain at the sight spread before us. I’m pretty sure we’re safe if two of Big’s men are standing in the doorway, laughing their asses off. On the snow-dusted floor just inside the house is Kade, lying face down on his stomach as a petite lady wearing a leather jacket and beanie hat wrenches his arm behind him. Pressing a knee to his lower back, she holds a small knife to the side of his throat.

Straining to lift his head off the floor, Kade gazes our way, his face beet red, neck muscles bulging. A snowstorm of fury dances in those baby blues.

“Get. Her. Off. Me, Ryker. Or I’m gonna end up doin’ somethin’ bad,” Kade pleads gruffly through clenched teeth, nostrils flaring.

“No you’re not,” she singsongs, not at all intimidated by him or his warning.

When I try to move past Ryker to get closer to Kade so I can help calm him, Ryker puts his arm out, halting my progression. “We don’t know who she is. Stay back.”

Pointing to the two brothers snickering in the doorway, snapping pictures of Kade, I roll my eyes at Ryker and shove his arm away. “They obviously know who she is,” I explain. Ryker’s hand drops to the wayside as he grunts some form of caveman assent.

As I approach with Ryker basically glued to my damn hip, the hazel-eyed badass sizes me up. “You must be Katrina Remington, daughter of Michael Ghost Remington, VP of the Texas Sacred Sinners,” the chick rattles off like a circa 1980s computer, her expression unreadable.

“Uh, yes, that’s me.” To give myself something to do, I rub my daughter.

She lifts her chin toward Ryker, still holding Kade down as if she’s got all the time in the world, and he’s not cursing her under his breath, promising a violent death, and wriggling like a worm, attempting to get free. Pressing my lips together, I stave off a chuckle. It’s quite the picture the brothers have captured of a big guy like Kade held down by a sprite of a woman who couldn’t be any more than a buck twenty soaking wet. Her pants are black leather, and cling to her lithe legs like a second skin. A tuft of blonde bangs poke out of her beanie. Her jacket flap opens slightly as she readjusts on her prey, and I catch a glimpse of her weapon arsenal strapped to her ribs before she tucks the coat back against her side. She’s packing some major heat. Not guns, though. Only knives and throwing stars. Oddly enough, that’s all Kade carries, too.

“You’re Ryker Knox, son of Jake Bear Knox, the president of the Texas Sacred Sinners,” the woman states, and he nods uncomfortably, arms tucked across his chest in warning. Either she’s not afraid of him, or she’s just plain stupid. Nevertheless, the lady doesn’t miss a beat when she blathers on unaffected. “You’re married to Vanessa Knox.”

I cringe at those words. Knox. She even has his last freaking name. Of course, she does.

Ryker grumbles something I can’t make out and glares at the female.

“You’re also the father of Katrina’s two daughters, Roxie and Scarlett. And if I read your file right, you’ve knocked up both your wife and your ex. They’re even due around the same time.”

A month apart, I want to correct, then think better of it. What’s arguing with this strange chick gonna fix? Nothing. It is around the same time. I suppose.

“Spouting off our fuckin’ history like a robot isn’t tellin’ me why the hell you’re here. I’m gonna give you three seconds to come clean and let my brother up, or you’re gonna wish you didn’t fuck with the Sacred Sinners,” Ryker lays down the law.

There’s an eerie pause as nobody speaks. The promise of violence hangs in the chilly air surrounding us. A heartbeat later, the crazy woman throws her head back and howls in laughter. Giant, all-consuming wails of tinkly merriment that vibrates her entire body. Yet, the knife at Kade’s throat doesn’t move a centimeter. This woman has gotta be off her rocker or something.

I arch a brow at Ryker in question. He shrugs. Kade huffs in frustration.

When the woman finishes, the hilarity wipes clean off her face, turning it stern as she stares Ryker in the eye. “First, I was hired by Big. I’m not your enemy. Secondly, your brother wouldn’t have been restrained if he’d kept his damn knife to himself. But he didn’t. He flashed it, and I acted. It’s an impulse. So now he’s in time out because I don’t like shiny blades threatening me. Even if I don’t think he poses a threat.”

“I’m gonna beat your ass, you crazy bitch,” Kade rages.

“I’d like to see you try, little man,” she taunts, grinding her knee deeper into his lower back.

Kade winces. “Fuck you, baby tits.”

The chick grins. It’s not a nice one. It’s devious and calculating as it curls at the corners like a tamer version of IT. Kade needs to shut the hell up if he wants to survive another five minutes. “No thanks, limp dick.” She presses the tip of the blade to his throat, breaking the skin. A small dot of blood bubbles to the surface.

That’s enough!

I take a step forward to defend Kade’s honor. Nobody, and I do mean nobody hurts my best friend except me. He’s mine to torment. I dunno who this woman is, but she’s not welcome here if she’s gonna hurt my family.

“You—” I start, only to be cut off when Kade moans. And I don’t mean a little. I mean full on moans like he’s in the middle of sex about to bust a nut.

“You like that, huh?” the blonde husks, her voice taking on an erotic lit.

Dear Lord. Please don’t tell me this is what I think it is.

“You’re a dirty cunt.” Kade shudders and shifts his hips.

He’s got a boner. I just know it.

What the ever-lovin' fuck? This is weird, even for me.

Entirely out of my element, I turn to Ryker, seeking something. He smirks those juicy lips and mouths foreplay.

Yep. I thought so.

The woman repositions the knife and presses to deliver another nick.

“Stop!” I yell, disrupting … whatever this is.

Snapping her head up, the lady shakes it as if to clear her wayward thoughts and quickly stows the knife inside her coat. Releasing Kade with a faint, albeit hungry groan, she climbs off my best friend, dusts her hands on her pants, and extends one in my direction. “Sorry.” A blush creeps up her neck, staining the apples of her pale cheeks. “I’m Rosie. Your new bodyguard.”

Taking her proffered palm in mine, we exchange quick pleasantries, and the front door is pulled shut by the brothers. “I’m Katrina, as you know, but you can call me Kat, for short.”

Rosie slips both hands into her butt pockets and rocks back on her boot heels. “It’s nice to meet you, Kat. I’ve gotta admit I’m not very good with this sorta stuff. I usually work alone. But when Big called me yesterday with a job, I couldn’t say no. It’s been a slow month.”

“There’s no way you’re protecting my Kat,” Ryker interjects, hostilely inserting himself between Rosie and me.

His Kat. Uh huh. And I’m Martha fucking Stewart.

Ryker makes a terrible window, so when Rosie replies, I can’t see her face. “Call your national prez. Ask him about me. He’ll fill ya in.”

Kade finally climbs off the floor and stands next to his brother, making this double wide wall of yummy maleness quite appealing from the backside. Hell-o, tight biteable asses. Where’s a quarter when ya need one?

Right. Now’s not the time to joke.

“I’ll call him. But you need to step outside before I do,” Ryker says.

“Isn’t she supposed to be my bodyguard? So why would she have to step outside?” I ask their broad shoulders.

‘Cause if it’s true, then there’s no reason for Rosie to be shoved outside in the blustery winter to stand with the fellas who’re busy freezing their twig and dingleberries off. Big’s men aren’t concerned by her presence. Which stands to reason that what she said is true. Obviously. Why is it the men in my life always try to dictate every darn thing? Why can’t they do things the easy way? You know, with manners. One step at a time. Not this Tarzan, beat my chest, I’m always right mentality.

“She’s not your bodyguard. You don’t need one,” Ryker tosses over his shoulder, none too happy.

Once again, annoyed by his flagrant disregard for my feelings, I jab the back of his neck with my middle finger. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Ryker turns around, giving Rosie his backside and me a stern look. His defined arms, which seem right at home folded beneath his pecs, are trying their damnedest to intimidate us lesser beings. If I didn’t know him intimately, I’d probably be a little nervous. He is a big, strong, muscly beefcake. But I’m not worried in the slightest. He’s a prickly teddy bear wearing the Big Bad Wolf’s clothing. “Yeah. I do,” he counters.

Mimicking his stance, I heft my breasts higher to show him that his pecs might be impressive, but those bad boys have nothing on the girls. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

Ryker smirks, clearly amused by my posture when he takes me in slowly from head to toe. The smirk morphs into a toothy, almost endearing smile that I wanna slap off his face. I’m not trying to be funny or cute. Why won’t he take me seriously?

Agitated, I tap my bare foot on the floor. “Those, are not my eyes,” I scold when he stares too long at my boobs. Not that I blame him. They are nice, and since I’m pregnant they’ve gotten larger. Not that they needed to grow any. They’re more than enough to handle without a bun in the oven.

Eventually, he lifts his gaze. “Those might not be your eyes, beautiful. But they’re sure sexy.”

I frown, not flattered in the slightest.

He keeps on. “If it’ll keep ya from fighting with me, like you seem to love doin’ today, then why don’t you take Rosie with ya and finish packing.”

Is he that dense? Doesn’t he see the picture here in vivid color? I’m not the good little wife to pat on the head and usher into the next room to keep her from bitching. That’s not what this is. Sometimes I think he’s caring. Other’s loving. Then he has to show this dickhead side. Which makes me wonder what I ever saw in him in the first place. Aside from his looks. Inside, not so much. You have to earn the right to insert yourself into my life and give me your opinion. You don’t get to boss me around. I’m not a child. I’m a grown ass woman who may use humor, sex, and sarcasm to lighten the burden of life, but that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of handling myself.

“I’m not the same person I used to be, Ryker. This is who I’ve become.” I sweep a hand down the length of my curvy body. “If this wasn’t so messed up, I wouldn’t fight with you. But you seem to forget I have a damn brain in my head and can make my own decisions. I don’t need a man to run my world. God knows the men in my life have a habit of letting me down. So I’ve made a life for myself, on my own. You tryin’ to dictate my life isn’t gonna go well for you. I will fight you at every corner. The carefree, innocent girl that gave you her virginity is dead. It’s about time you realize that.”

As if I’ve slapped him, he rears his head back.

“I have accepted that I’m moving to Texas temporarily. I have accepted that you did a shitty thing today by letting your dad take our kids without my permission. I’ve accepted I have to pack, and ride in a truck with Vanessa all the way to Texas.” The thought of that already peeves me off.

“I’m an adult. I can accept the things in which I cannot change. But what I can’t do is let you run the show. You are not my father. My boss. My husband. Or my … anything. If Big sent Rosie here to be my bodyguard, she’s gonna do her job. Because I’d rather have a woman, who’s a supreme badass, protect me, then someone who I wish I could shove a bag over his head so I didn’t find him so goddamn lickable all the time. So, yes, I’m gonna go into the bedroom with Rosie, because I said I am. You’re gonna call Big. And you’re gonna be nice, and thank him for his generous gift. After that, you’ll take my suitcases to the truck, and buy me as much fucking road trip junk food that I want. Without complaining that Sno-Caps are a movie staple, not a road trip snack. Because they’re both. I dunno how many times I have to tell you that.”

As I rattle on, the air in my lungs thins out, so I stop to catch my breath before finishing. “Then you’re gonna play whatever music I want on the drive. Which includes N’sync and Hanson, because I know you hate that crap. And I’m gonna sing everything off key the entire trip just to drive y’all insane. However, you’re gonna praise my awful vocals by saying they’re the best you’ve ever heard. To which, I’m gonna shake my head, stick my tongue out at you, and keep on belting the next verse of whatever 90s shit I wanna jam to. Do I make myself clear?”

Visibly dumbfounded, Ryker nods slowly.

Good. Let him marinate on that for a minute. Maybe he’ll finally see the light. If not, I’ll remind him repetitively until it soaks in.

Before the cat that’s caught Ryker’s tongue lets go, I spin on my heel and say, “Rosie, I’ll be in the bedroom if you’d like to join me. The testosterone out here’s stifling,” and waddle up the hallway to my bedroom where I need to finish packing.

“I’m coming,” she calls.

Yep. It’s gonna be nice having a woman around that I don’t wanna throttle every three seconds.

Ryker

I love her. I love her so fuckin’ much it hurts my heart and dick. That sassy, smart mouth, I’ve got bigger-balls-than-you attitude has me rock hard. It’s a good thing she didn’t check out my crotch during her rant, or I’d get an even sexier ear full. As long as my old lady is still breathin, she can hate me, curse me to Hell, or kick me in the nuts and I’d still crawl back for seconds, thirds, and fourths. Kat’s right. The girl I fell for years ago is gone. But she ain’t dead. Nope. She’s better. Grown into a fierce woman that I can’t help but respect … and itch to fuck in every room of every house on this block, the next block, and six more after that. I wanna wear that pussy out until my cock falls off.

As Kat penguin walks back to her room, hand perched on her lower back, and Rosie, the chick I don’t trust as far as I can throw her scrawny ass, follows behind, I yank my phone outta my pocket, scroll to Big’s number, and hit call. I’m not down with this shit. You don’t send some bitch to protect my old lady without givin’ me at least a heads up.

Lovesick, all starry-eyed like a damn cartoon character, my brother floats on cloud nine toward Kat’s bedroom. He wants another glimpse of that knife totin’ female. The woody in his pants is one clue that my brother’s sprung. Add the fact he isn’t actin’ normal, that’s the second clue. Someone’s in wild lust with the chick that just took him to the floor, then revved his kinky engine just the way he loves. A way that very few people know about. I’ve said it once, I’ll say it a thousand times, Kade’s a sadistic motherfucker in everyday life when you push the wrong buttons. In the bedroom, you might as well tattoo masochist across his forehead. Pain, pain, and more pain is his sweetest pleasure.

Big growls his greeting after the second ring. “You better not be callin’ to bust my balls.”

Sighing loud enough he can hear, I heed his warning. There are very few people I’m scared of in this world. Big Dick happens to be in my top two. And considering there’s less than five people on my list, that’s sayin’ something.

“I don’t wanna bust your balls. I wanna know what the fuck you were thinkin’,” I grumble, pacing my old living room.

The place I bounced Roxie on my chest so she’d fall asleep. The same place where I held all three of my girls as they passed out on me while watching some movie. Not that the babies were watching much of anything. It was Kat who didn’t wanna put them to bed. So I had one resting on my chest, as the other sat next to me, tucked against my side. Kat took the other. It was one of the best days of my life. Until I ruined it all for family and her protection.

Big speaks to someone else, his hand obviously covering the phone, before he gets back to me. “I was thinkin’ that I told Katrina I’d keep her safe. Rosie’s a sure bet to ensure that. This ain’t about you and your wounded pride. This is about keepin’ a woman safe that shouldn’t need savin’ in the first place. If Bear had kept his head on straight and you toed the line, none of this never woulda happened. Now I’m cleanin’ up your mess, by doin’ the only thing I know how. And that’s protectin’ family. That’s what I do. I keep mine safe. She’s a Sacred Sister, whether she knows it or not. She’s Ghost’s daughter. Your babies’ mama, and a badass to boot. I’ve got mad respect for her. So she gets the best of the best to keep her safe. Which, asshole, ain’t you.”

Restless, I scrub my short beard. “You sayin’ it’s Rosie?”

“I’m not sayin’ shit. I’m tellin’ ya it is.”

“Can’t say I agree with you there.” She’s too small. Too fragile. There’s no way she can take on a group of angry bikers. Not possible.

“Bullshit. She had your brother down in less than ten seconds. That takes skill.”

Of course, he knows about that already. Probably has an entire photo album dedicated to the moment. I can’t argue it happened. Still, that doesn’t mean shit when we’re talking club on club. This is war. We declared it. We’ve got a shit storm on its way, and a five-foot nothin’ chick is gonna protect the love of my life? Nah. I’m not buyin’ what Big’s peddlin’. Not for a second.

“Sorry, Prez, but I ain’t seein’ what you are. She’s tiny. Sure, she took down Kade. But that don’t mean shit to me when we’re goin’ to war.”

“Then you best listen to me, boy. ‘Cause Rosie is more qualified to be in this war than any of us. She may not be a Sinner ‘cause she’s got a pussy. But she’s a brother, through and through.”

Now I’m confused as hell.

I take a seat on a stool in the kitchen, perchin’ one elbow on the countertop. The same place Kat used to eat my special pancakes, and give me those light-up-the-world smiles that took my breath away. This house holds so many memories; every place I look another one resurfaces. It’s a damn miracle the guilt of leaving this all behind hasn’t killed me yet. Where’s Jim, Jack, and Jose when ya need ‘em? Drunk sounds mighty perfect right about now. Less feelings that way. Less stress. Less memories.

I shake my head to clear it. “Ya gotta elaborate, Prez, if you expect me to go with this.”

“You don’t have a choice. Rosie is in it. She’s Kat’s bodyguard until I say otherwise. You don’t run this show. I do. I mighta gave you the authority to decide where your family ends up. ‘Cause I wouldn’t want anyone tellin’ me what I should do with Bink, or my kids, if I had any. That was about respect. Nothin’ more. Rosie isn’t up for negotiation. You’ll get with the program, ‘cause I said so. Ya, hear me?”

“I get it,” I clip, clenching my jaw so hard I might crack a tooth. If he wasn’t my prez, I’d tell him to go fuck himself. That he doesn’t tell me what to do, and can lick my hairy nut sac. But I know what’ll happen if I open my mouth. The price would be steep. And I don’t have the time to recover from that before war. A visit to his shed doesn’t sound appealing to anyone. That’s the place people go to hurt, and die. Disobedience is for morons who have a death wish. I don’t. I’d like to keep my kneecaps right where they belong.

“Good,” he growls.

“Fine,” I grit.

“You about done lickin’ your prissy bitch wounds for me pullin’ rank?” There’s humor in the dickhead’s voice.

“Not even close,” I admit truthfully.

He chuckles. “Ya know, if you didn’t worry about Rosie bein’ there, and ya weren’t this pissed at me, I’d be ready to hand you your ass.”

This man makes no sense.

“What?”

“You think I want brothers who lie down and take it like a club whore?”

Easy. Ready on our backs. That’s what he’s getting at.

“No. I don’t.”

“Damn right I don’t. I want someone who’s gonna call me to find out about the chick I sent to protect his woman. I’d do the same thing. So ask your questions. I’ll tell ya what I can. But Rosie’s story isn’t mine to tell.”

Jesus Christ. This right here is why he’s the prez of the Sacred Sinners. He’s no bullshit.

Huffing a sigh, I rearrange my thoughts, smother my temper, and get down to brass tacks. “How’d you meet her? What’re her qualifications? How do you know for sure she’s good for the job?”

There’s movement as if he’s walking, the creek of a door closing, then the sound of … are you fuckin’ kidding me right now?

“Big, are you pissin’ with me on the phone?”

“Yup,” he states, no-nonsense.

“Fine. I’ll wait until you’re done.”

“No need. I’m done.” There’s the flush of the toilet and the sound of water running as he washes his hand. His breathing grates against the receiver for a second before he resumes our previous conversation. “I met Rosie in a bar four years ago when I was on a run. She was shootin’ pool. Some douche tried to feel her up. She didn’t take too kindly to that. One warning, turned in to two, and the man wouldn’t listen. She’s kinda soft spoken. Looks innocent. Small. Nobody would think she could kill a man with her bare hands. Well, I’m here to tell ya, she’s a fuckin’ beast. By the third time that man grabbed her ass, she backhanded him so hard it busted the man’s lip open. Then he was on her. Pushin’ her against the pool table, about to return the slap. Only, I got up, ready to stomp the shit outta that prick. But there was no need. Rosie smiled this cruel, sadistic grin. Her eyes glazed over. And she came unhinged. Let’s just say within two minutes there were three men on her, to keep her from killing the perv. If it weren’t for me, she’d be locked up for assault. The guy ended up in intensive care.”

“Jesus,” I hiss.

“After that, we talked. She told me her sad, heartbreaking story, and I offered her a job. She took it without hesitation. And that’s how Rosie became the unofficial member of the Sacred Sinners.”

“So she does what for us exactly?”

“She’s a hitman. We got a problem, she goes undercover, gets the Intel with Gunz’s help, and takes out our targets.”

“But she doesn’t carry a gun.”

“Nope. She doesn’t need one. The way Rosie eliminates the marks is a different brand of club justice.”

Well, color me intrigued. “You gonna tell me how she does it?”

“No. But let me just say, she has a black belt in most forms of martial arts. Did a stint in the military. Her hand to hand combat rivals anyone in the entire club. Give her knives, and she makes Kade look like a damn amateur. She’s also smart. Crazy smart. It’s a miracle she’s our ally. So try not to piss her off. You don’t wanna be on her bad side. Don’t worry. Ya don’t have to make nice. Just let her do the job I’m payin’ her to do. Trust me, you want her to protect Katrina. You’ve got enough to handle with the club on the brink of war, and your wife drama.”

That’s true. Vanessa’s a thorn in my side. The worst of it? She loves me. If I could fix that, I would. I don’t deserve anyone’s love. Especially not a woman’s I don’t even want.

Big keeps goin’. “This is the only way I can ensure she doesn’t get the short end of the stick. They want her. She’s Ghost’s daughter. She’s a sure fire way to pay him, and the club back for what happened. The money they want they’re never gonna see. The vengeance they’ve been stewing on for well over a decade has festered. Their club’s low rent. They used to be bigger dogs in the rink. Because of Ghost, they lost territories, suppliers, and respect. They’ve left Kat alone for all these years ‘cause she’s an innocent. Let’s be thankful they’ve lived by a code thus far. Not all clubs do. But, now that they’ve confirmed Mike ain’t dead, they’re gonna use any means necessary to make him pay for his sins. That includes—”

“Fuckin’ with my woman and kids,” I finish for him.

Big sighs like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “Yep. They wanna pay him back. If he was dead, they’d have no reason to punish the daughter for the sins of the father. Now that Vanessa confirmed he’s alive, they’re gonna be itching to kill her.”

“You think they woulda killed her if we hadn’t found her?”

“Yes. And it woulda been dirty.”

Bile rises up my throat, and I gulp it down. Thank fuck I got to her in time. Thank fuck for those necklaces.

Big’s still talkin’. “They’d have tortured her worse than she was. Sent pieces of her body back to Ghost. Videos. Anything they could to draw him out and make him pay his dues.”

“Didn’t Kat say all they wanted was the money?” I believe that’s what she told Kade. God knows, she wasn’t gonna talk to me about it. She doesn’t trust me. Not that I can blame her.

“That’s what they let her overhear. That doesn’t mean that’s the truth. They coulda been playin’ with her head. Wantin’ to see if she’d break and give up any info she had. That’s what I’d do. I’d send in the biggest, ugliest motherfucker to scare her. Rough her up a bit. Then I’d stage an argument right outside her room to make it sound like somethin’ it wasn’t to weaken her defenses. Part of torture isn’t all physical. It’s mental. They were playin’ her.”

“You’re sure?” I prompt.

“No. But I know how I work, and I’d imagine they’re not much different with that much bad blood.”

That’s a valid point. I know enough about Ghost’s past, from Pops, but not all of it. Only the parts where Big helped fake his death due to a deal gone sideways. Then Ghost joined us, became VP, Pops fell hard for him, and they’ve been keepin’ tabs on Katrina. I got in the middle of all that when I did what I did. No use in trudging up past shit. That’s done. I’ve gotta face the present. Do what I gotta do to get her safely to the cabin I built for her and our girls. The rest’ll have to fall in place. Spillin’ blood has never been a problem for me. If someone has to bleed to protect my Tiger, then so be it. If Big says Rosie’s the right person to guard my family, I respect him enough to heed his orders. They weren’t made lightly. And knowing what I now know about Rosie, I’m happy he meddled. The Texas chapter might be the ones in the spotlight. But when you fuck with one Sacred Sinner, you fuck with the rest of ‘em. And we don’t go quietly.

Chatting a few more minutes with Big about what’s goin’ down. I finish the call in time to watch Kade roll two stuffed-to-the-gills suitcases to the front door. He lifts his chin at them, leaning against the wall next to the doorway, smirking like the D-bag he is. “Kat said you were to load ‘em in the truck.”

She sure did, the bossy sexpot.

Standing, I shove my phone in my pocket and start for the luggage. “I know, smartass.” Stopping in front of my brother, I take a page outta Kat’s book of sass and roll my eyes. “I’m also buyin’ her Sno-Caps, remember, and she’s forbade … forbidden … ah, fuck … whatever the word is, from arguin’ the fact that Sno-Caps are not a road trip snack. They’re strictly a movie watchin’ delight.”

Kade’s lingering smirk hooks into a half-cocked smile. “You’re serious about this Sno-Caps thing? I thought it was a joke.”

I arch a brow. “Kat and I take our Sno-Cap eating seriously. Point blank, they’re a movie staple. She, on the other hand, had to go and declare them an anytime treat. Because when she was pregnant with Rox, she couldn’t get enough chocolate. Anythin’ chocolate. So when we went to the gas station, or even drove past one, she’d wanna pull over and buy a box of Sno-Caps. Before we’d leave the parking lot, she’d start eating them in front of me. One at a time, in slow motion. Tormenting me with the damn things. Not offering me a single bite. Then she’d remind me that I said they were a movie snack. So she couldn’t share since we were in the car and there wasn’t a movie playing.” Smiling fondly at the memory, I shrug. Kade’s not gonna get it. Nobody gets it, but us. It’s a special inside joke of sorts.

He chuckles. “You two are ridiculous.”

“No. I was … am in love. Sometimes you let your woman eat Sno-Caps in the car to give her a moment of happy. Sometimes you let her hate you. Or let her boss you around so she feels more secure. Either way, the love doesn’t go anywhere.”

Kade’s eyes soften a fraction. “You’re a goner,” he mutters.

“No shit. You’re just figurin’ this out?”

My bro lifts and drops his left shoulder. “I wasn’t sure. I knew you were fucked up for years. Didn’t know why. Then you went and married Vanessa. I’d hoped that meant you’d got over whatever shit was drownin’ ya in the bottom of a bottle. Of course, that was before I met Katrina. Her visit to Texas put the rest into perspective.”

I run a palm over the top of my smooth head. “Yeah, well, it put a lot into perspective for me, too.”

“Good. ‘Cause the more ya start thinkin’ about what’s best for her and makin’ her happy, the less of a dumbshit you’ll be.”

He’s right.

“I’m tryin’,” I admit on an emotionally charged exhale.

“Try harder.” Kade claps me on the shoulder and brings me in for a back pounding bro-hug before pressing our foreheads together.

“I’m gonna win her back,” I promise my kin with something horrible and thick clogging my throat. My heart thumps my ribs in agreement.

Kade’s minty breath assaults my nostrils. He must’ve had a Lifesaver. “You’d better. ‘Cause I wanna know my nieces. In the meantime, I’m gonna do my brotherly duty and bone that knife totin’ Betty ‘til she can’t walk straight.”

I snicker. “You can’t bone Rosie.”

“Sure I can.”

I told ya he’s schoolboy smitten.

“She’s Kat’s bodyguard,” I remind, stepping away to grab the handles of the luggage for something to do. It won’t be long until we gotta hit the road.

Kade wipes his palms down the thighs of his jeans. “Still? I thought you’d talk Big outta that nonsense. We got her. She don’t need itty bitty Rosie to protect her. She couldn’t stop a field mouse, let alone a rival club.”

I’m not gonna argue the fact that she just took him to the ground.

Since Big didn’t exactly give me the go-ahead to fill Kade in on Rosie’s unusual place in the club, I choose a different tactic. “Kat has no lady friends where she’s goin’, so Rosie’s comin’ along.”

“Which means I can bone her?” Kade’s grasping at straws, his eyes pleading, tone hopeful.

Mashing my lips together, I shake my head. Not gonna happen. Kade and Rosie plus sex equals disaster in the making. She could end up hating him and wanting to leave. Then Big would kick my ass. After Kat did, for allowing Kade to get too involved in the first place. Nope. He can keep his distance. It’s what’s best for Kat. And what’s best for Kat is best for Kade. They’re as thick as thieves. His brain gets it. Unfortunately, his pecker does the pickin’ and there’s no logic when it comes to Kade Jr.

Not thrilled by my refusal, Kade glares at me for a beat before stomping down the hall to presumably tattle to Kat about something to get me in trouble. That’s how he works. He’s been that way since we were kids. Always lyin’ to get me yelled at. Not that I was much better. You do, what ya gotta do.

As if on cue, Kade pipes up loud enough I can hear. “Watermelon tits, Ryker ain’t listenin’. He won’t take your luggage to the truck.”

Kat must respond, though I can’t hear it.

“I dunno why he’s such an asshole. You should go ask him. He also said you weren’t allowed to have any Sno-Caps.”

There’s a feminine, dick hardening growl that emanates from the room.

Fuckin’ Kade.

To resolve this lie before it grows exponentially, and I’m castrated by my old lady, I holler, “I’m takin’ them to the truck right now, Tiger. Don’t let Kade lie to ya. And don’t worry, I’ll buy ya five boxes of Sno-Caps, and I’ll even let ya eat them slowly while I’m watchin’, for old time sake.”

There. That should do it.

Knowing Kat had to have heard me, I pick up the bags and haul them outside. It’s time to get the show on the road. The cabin’s ready for its first real visitors. I can’t wait to see how much Roxie and Scarlett love it.

Ryker

Behind my driver seat in the Suburban is Vanessa. On the third row bench is Kat. Beside her, Kade’s tryin’ to mollify the pregnant beast about to burst outta her skin, She-Hulk style. This has been the trip from Hell. First, Kat packs way too much unnecessary crap, so the back window is completely blocked. If it weren’t for Rosie tailing us on her sportbike to make sure nobody’s following us, I wouldn’t be able to see jack. And that can’t happen. Not when I’ve got a car full of people to protect. Visibility is paramount. Now I gotta use Rosie as my extra pair of eyes. Second, Vanessa has whined steadily about every little irritating thing. The road’s too bumpy. The fast food we picked up at Taco Bell too greasy. There’s not enough leg room. She can’t get comfortable. Can’t sleep. Add all those to the eclectic music bomb Kat happily dropped on us and Vanessa can’t shut up for more than ten minutes. If you think all that’s bad, it’s gotten far shittier in the past half hour. Kat’s tired, cranky, and uncomfortable like the rest of us. Not that I blame her. Vanessa’s always grated on my nerves when she whines. So what have I done to rectify the problem? Fake the nice guy routine to pacify Vanessa. Not exactly my finest decision.

“Ryker, honey, can I have your jacket to sleep on?” Vanessa purrs, leaning into the space between the two front seats, laying her neatly manicured hand on my shoulder.

Earlier today when I was busy with Kat at her house, I bribed one of the brothers fifty bucks to take Vanessa to a nail salon to keep her out of everybody’s hair. She’s always loved that frou-frou stuff. Now her nails have some white tippy paint on them.

Glancing down at my jacket and cut in the front passenger seat, I consider givin’ it to Vanessa. We’re driving straight through. No hotel. No roadside naps. Kade and I are tradin’ off, and Rosie assured me she can handle sixteen hours on her bike without sleep. I’ve been at the wheel since we left six hours ago. It’s pitch black outside. The reflective road signs, mind-numbing. There ain’t a single person on this stretch of highway aside from the sleek bike at my rear, and us. Every so often, I check my side mirror to ensure Rosie’s handlin’ this craptastic drive okay. Thus far, we’ve stopped four times to piss, eat, and gas up. I hate stopping. Stopping takes time away from driving. Stopping means I gotta hug Vanessa to appease her. Stopping means Kat grows further and further away from me because of the affection I’m givin’ Vanessa. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do here. Tell her to take a hike so I can be with Kat? I can’t do that until we get to Texas, where I can get a moment of peace.

Needin’ to see my agitated babe, who refuses to eat the Sno-Caps I bought her, I watch Kade and her in the rearview mirror. Kade’s got Katrina cuddled up against him and he’s stroking her long, silky hair. Whispering somethin’ in her ear, too. Good. As much as I wish it was me back there, I know that can’t happen today. Kade’s the perfect stand-in. Plus, I know if I give Vanessa my jacket, it’s gonna fuck with my little Tiger’s head. He’s gotta be there to settle the blow. But if I don’t, we’re gonna have to endure another bout of complaining. It’s a catch twenty-two. I’m basically screwed any way ya look at it. Though, I can say for certain Kat can’t bear another five minutes, let alone an hour of Vanessa’s incessant pettiness. She’s already called her out once. Told her to “Grow up.” As expected, it didn’t go over well. Vanessa started smack talking and insulting Kat in return. Kade nearly backhanded Vanessa. I pulled into the nearest rest stop and dealt with the bullshit. I’ve had a throbbing headache ever since.

“Well?” Vanessa prompts, kissing my bristly cheek when I don’t answer her right away.

Fuck it.

Heaving a sigh, I snatch up my leather jacket and toss it in the back.

“Thank you,” Vanessa squeals delightedly, spiking my pain to the next level. I massage the bridge of my nose to relieve the pressure.

Eleven more hours. Only eleven more hours.

Let’s pray we survive.

Kat

Ten hours down, a million more to go. When Ryker said Vanessa had to ride with us to Texas, I’d prepared myself mentally. Guess I should’ve done a better job. If she asks Ryker, “are we almost there yet,” one more time, I’m gonna throat punch her until she can’t talk for a week. I thought only children acted that way. Apparently not.

In the driver seat, Ryker taps his fingers to the beat of AC/DC’s Thunderstruck pumping through the speakers, drowning out anything Vanessa could possibly need to say. Beside me, Kade nuzzles his nose in my hair, half asleep. “You smell good,” he mumbles to my ear, moist breath dampening my skin.

“Is that why you’ve got a tent in your pants, Dickcheese?” I tease, eyeing the bulge that’s been there for at least forty minutes. I know it’s a morning wood. He’s been nodding in and out of sleep for the past couple of hours. Any time now and Ryker is gonna need a break from driving and Kade will leave me. My stomach sours at the prospect. He’s been my buffer when Ryker’s been too busy kissing Vanessa’s pert ass.

“Can I have your jacket to sleep with, Ryker?”

“Can I get a kiss, Ryker?”

“Will you buy me a Smart Water, Ryker?”

“Ew. This meat is so greasy. Will you eat it, Ryker?”

On … and on … and on she drones. Part of me blames it on her youth. The other, desperate for attention. Lots and lots of it. I’ve never met a needier person in my life. When I first met Vanessa, I never pegged her for such an attention whore. I’d been dead wrong. She’s a prime example as to why I don’t have many friends. There’s too much drama that comes with friendship, and I’m too old for all that jazz.

Ryker changes lanes, and Kade mutters something clever about his woody.

“What’d you say?” I ask.

“I said, your watermelony tits get me hardy hard all the time.”

Giggling quietly, I slap his leg. “You’re such a liar.”

“Am not.” He snuggles closer, still using my shoulder as a pillow.

I kiss his forehead. “It’s okay. I still love you.”

“You’d better.”

I truly do. All’s forgiven when it comes to Kade. Sure, I abused his nut sack for keeping me in the dark. But he’s one of those people ya can’t stay mad at for long.

“Shit!” Ryker yells suddenly, slamming on the breaks and taking the first right off the freeway. Tires squeal. Kade’s steel arm shoots out in front of me for protection, just as mine does the same for him on pure instinct. My heart lurches up my throat and the SUV rocks to the side. For stability, I clutch the headrest on the seat in front of me. Vanessa curses.

Driving like a bat outta hell for a short distance, Ryker stunt driver turns onto an abandon lane between dense forest cover, and kills the engine with a belated, “Son of a bitch!”

Punching the steering wheel, he asks, “Is everyone okay back there?”

“Yes,” I assure him.

“No,” Vanessa whines, yet he ignores her. She appears fine to me.

Now wide awake with concern etched between his dark brows, Kade cuffs his hand on my knee. “Stay here,” he orders before moving efficiently between the two bucket seats in the second row and dropping his ass on the one in front of me. “What’s goin’ on?” Kade prompts Ryker, who’s currently locked and loaded, scanning our surroundings on high alert.

This isn’t good.

Rosie, dressed in all black, swiftly passes my window and opens Kade’s rear passenger door. “We’ve got a problem,” she announces, breathing heavily.

Ryker turns in his seat. An orange sunrise is on the horizon, bathing the world in a dim glow. It filters through the trees, projecting lines across Ryker’s cheek. “What’d ya see?” he growls.

“Black, nondescript Caddy turned off a dead end road about ten miles back. He kept his distance for the first two miles. So I dropped back to see what he’d do. Wanted to check his plates. He didn’t seem to care about me. But he was keeping pace with you. I snapped a pic of his plates and sent it to Gunz. He got back to me in seconds, sayin’ to get the fuck outta dodge.” She glances my way for a beat, assessing my face for whatever reason before returning her attention to Ryker. “We’re not takin’ any chances. That’s why I signaled ya with my high beams.”

Ryker scrubs his chiseled jaw contemplatively, dark shadows cast under his eyes from lack of sleep. “Did you see what they did when I turned off?”

“They tried to make the turn. But missed it. They’ll be back-trackin' so we gotta lay low for an hour or two. Park deeper in the woods. Get you some sleep. Kade and I’ll keep watch.”

“I can help, too,” I offer.

All eyes, except Vanessa’s, swing to me in surprise.

What? I’m an excellent marksmen.

“Not happenin’, Tiger.” Ryker frowns, sadness seeping into his already weary expression. He stifles a yawn. “I’ll keep ya company. It shouldn’t take all that long. We’re safe.”

I know we’re safe. I’m not concerned about that. My gut’s quiet. She knows there’s nothing to fret over. What I am bothered by is his haggard appearance. The guy has been running on fumes for however long. Probably since the day Vanessa and I were abducted. He needs rest. The Suburban can’t provide beauty sleep. But an hour of shuteye should do him good.

Being the bigger person, I nod in compliance. “If you promise to get some sleep while Kade and Rosie keep lookout then I’ll be a good girl and get some rest, too.” The last part is a lie. I couldn’t sleep if I wanted. My blood’s pumping too hard, thanks to the bucket of adrenaline that was dumped in my system. What I can do is watch over him.

“What am I supposed to do then?” Vanessa speaks up.

“Rest,” Rosie answers, knowing from our last stop that all of us, including Ryker, are fed up with his wife.

Tucking her long, sleek ponytail over her shoulder, Vanessa’s bottom lip sticks out in an exaggerated pout. It’s meant to be cute. When, in reality, it’s babyish. “What if I gotta use the restroom?”

Her lack of common sense baffles me. How have Ryker and her lasted this long?

Annoyed by her ridiculousness, I refuse to swallow my frustration down like a hot branding iron for another second. “We are in the woods. You can pee by a tree.”

Her face screws up in disgust. “I’m not peeing out there.”

“Then you’d better hold your bladder, ‘cause we aren’t leavin’ until I know things are safe,” Rosie adds.

Vanessa scoffs at Rosie’s no-nonsense tone. “Who are you again?”

Rosie’s hazel eyes flare with challenge. “I’m the bitch who’s tired of your mouth already. So why don’t you shut up and let the adults do their job, okay, princess?”

Vanessa glares at her new nemesis.

Rosie returns the sentiment with equal distaste.

Kade snickers, and Ryker groans, dragging a palm down his face before sighing like this is the worst day of his life. Join the club, buddy. I’m right there with ya. Where’s a muzzle when you need one?

The non-pregnant badasses discuss their plans, and when they’re finished, Kade turns around to check on me. “Are you gonna be okay stayin’ in here with them?”

Ryker mumbles something I can’t make out.

What choice do I have? They’re not going to let an extremely pregnant woman, who was recently kidnapped, and happens to be a target, stand outside with them to keep watch. That’s common sense. If I were in their shoes, I wouldn’t allow it either. So I have no other options than to remain in the Suburban and hope that this snag is solved quickly. Maybe the Caddy will lose interest and give up for now. The longer we’re on the road without back up, the more vulnerable we become. Texas can’t come soon enough.

Nodding, I press my lips into a thin line.

Kade reaches around the chair and squeezes my knee. “If you need me, I’m not gonna be far.”

I offer him a tight smile. “Thanks.”

“I mean it, Kat. If you need me, I’m here. Nobody is gonna fuck with you anymore.”

I wish that were true. Either way, my comfort isn’t priority. We’ve got more pressing matters.

I cup his big hand with my much smaller one that rests on my knee. “I’m good. The longer you talk, the longer we gotta wait to leave.”

Satisfied with my response, Kade delivers one final squeeze and climbs out of the truck to join Rosie. Ryker re-fires the engine and coasts deeper into the woods, further from the road. Pulling up next to a downed tree, he turns off the ignition and tosses the keys on the dash. “If you don’t wanna get squished, Vanessa, I suggest you change seats. ‘Cause I’m gonna recline.” Not giving her time to protest, Ryker’s chair tilts, and Vanessa scrambles into the seat Kade vacated. Hating the idea of being close to her, I shift to the opposite side of the bench and kick my legs up to relax. At least I’ve got enough room to sort of sprawl out.

Snatching my favorite pillow from the top of my luggage, I tuck it behind my head. Vanessa fires icy daggers at me over her shoulder. Perhaps jealous that I was smart enough to bring a pillow. It’s not my fault she’s ill-prepared. I know, I know, I should share, because that’s what nice people do. It’s something I constantly lecture my girls about. But, you know what? Fuck that. I’m not sharing any of my stuff. She’s got Ryker’s jacket. The one that smells like him. As far as I’m concerned, from this moment on, she doesn’t exist.

Tucking his arm under his head, gun resting on his chest from what I can see, Ryker’s eyes slide closed. “If you need me, Tiger, just wake me up. Vanessa, do me a favor and actually be quiet. I’m exhausted.”

Neither one of us women respond. There’s nothing to say.

Prepared to watch over Ryker, just in case, I extract my Kindle out of my bag that’s on the floor and fire it up to read another biker romance. You’d better not disappoint me with your raw alphaness, Tooth, or I’m liable to kick your dick in. The last thing I need is to be let down by a sexy gay biker when life itself sucks right now.

Kat

There’s a deafening screech of metal tearing. Vanessa screaming. Glass breaking. My eyes fly wide the instant our vehicle rolls. End over end, I slam into the ceiling and back against the seat on agonizing repeat, trying to protect my stomach. For a terrifying second, I’m suspended mid-air between the leather bench and the roof before I crack my skull on the ceiling. My vision blurs. Pain explodes. Blood drips. Ears ring.

I’m going to die!

A hundred years later, the thrashing ceases, and my world stills. Wetness trickles from between my thighs. Blood, piss, or amniotic fluid, I don’t know which. A heartbeat later and everything around me realigns. The roof’s at my back. There’s noise, so much noise, but I can’t make any of it out. Am I the one screaming? Tilting my head back, fragments of glass grind into my hair from the shattered windows.

Afraid to assess myself, I lie still, trying not to panic. Pain, more than I’ve ever felt before, radiates from my belly button up through my chest. Pulling any air proves to be increasingly difficult with each laden exhale. Panicking, I draw a deep breath and cough violently through the fiery pain. Breaking into a cold sweat, my hands begin to tremble. Something’s not right. Blood bubbles up my throat, filling my mouth. I spit, and it keeps coming.

I love you, Roxie. I love you, Scarlett. I’m so sorry. Mommy’s so so so sorry.

A hot tear slips free.

Another cough and metallic hell bathes my tongue once again, surging through my nostrils.

Someone touches my shoulder, then shakes it.

My vision dims.

Heart rate slows.

The familiar scent of the man I used to love envelopes me.

I gasp a gurgling breath.

This is it.

The end.

I’m sorry.

Ryker

Son of a bitch!

“Baby.”

I shake Kat’s shoulder to no avail as copious amounts of tears leak down the sides of her ashen face. Mumbling nonsense on a heartbreaking sob, her entire body shudders as she gasps for air. Although she can breathe just fine. There’s nothing physically wrong with her. Whatever mental demons she’s battlin’ are tearing her up. And I can’t do a goddamn thing but sit here and watch in agony. Jesus Christ. I wanna kill the bastards that’re haunting her dreams. If they were real, I’d have disemboweled them by now.

“She okay?” Kade asks from the driver seat as he backs us outta the woods.

Kneelin’ on the floor between the two bucket seats, I take her quivering hand in mine. “I dunno. She’s dreaming. And it’s not a good one. She’s fuckin’ cryin’.”

“PTSD, ya think?”

“How am I supposed to know?” I snap, pissed at myself for not bein’ there when she needed me. If I had been, I wouldn’t be dying a slow, painful death watchin’ the love of my life’s wretched sobs.

“Ryker,” Kat rasps. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby. I got you.” Rubbing her shoulder, I lean up to kiss the tears from her cheeks, not givin’ a single fuck that Vanessa’s watching.

“Ryker.” Kat’s bottom lip wobbles.

“I’ve got you. You need to wake up, Kat,” I whisper to her lips before gently molding mine to hers to leech the pain away. Anything to make this stop. My heart can’t take this another damn second. It’s cracking in two.

My mouth brushes over her parted ones. “Wake up, my little Tiger. Come back to me.”

“I—I can’t,” she whimpers, squeezing my hand in a death grip.

“I love you so fuckin’ much. You gotta wake up. Come back to me.” Another ghost of a kiss is delivered, and her body stills. The air in her lungs freezes, scaring the ever-lovin' piss outta me.

No. No. No.

Drawing back, I shake her shoulder hard. “Tiger. You gotta breathe. Kat!”

There’s a sharp gasp from her pretty lips as color returns to her cheeks and my little Tiger’s swollen eyes pop open. For a brief second she scans my face, confused. Then her face crumbles and a painful wail rips from her throat. Fuck.

Not giving two shits how this looks, I scoop her into my arms, forcing her to sit on my lap as she releases whatever it is that’s bottled deep inside. Fisting my shirt, she clings to me, shoving her face in the crook of my neck. At least she was smart enough to have removed her glasses before falling asleep, or they’d be crushed by now.

A series of less violent cries tumble one right after another as her tears soak my skin and through the front of my shirt. Still, I hold on, rubbing her back, trying not to lose it myself. I gotta be strong for her. But this is shredding my insides. Maiming them. My fucking gut aches. I may have screwed our future. I may have done a lot of shitty things. Yet, this … this isn’t somethin’ I can fix. This, I’ll have to live with forever. When I knew she was safe, taking care of our kids—happy. I could live my life. Keep on breathin’ day after day, knowin’ I could watch the videos. That I could look but not touch. Knowin’ that mine and the club’s negligence caused her to get caught in the crossfire and, in turn, give her nightmares. That’s somethin’ I dunno how to compartmentalize. Jesus. Where’s a big bottle of whiskey when ya need it? I could sure use a drink. Or the whole goddamn bottle.

Curbing my self-loathing for a hot minute to focus on what really matters, I whisper, “Everything’s gonna be alright,” and stroke Katrina’s spine.

She hiccups. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, baby.” Threading my fingers through her long, beautiful hair, I tilt her head back to kiss her forehead. My lips linger against her damp skin. “You’re safe. Nobody is gonna get you again. Rosie took care of it.”

Kat doesn’t need to know how Rosie took care of things. All she needs to know is I’m never gonna let anyone hurt her again. Myself included. She deserves someone who’ll hang the moon and stars for her and her alone. Consequences be damned, I’m determined to prove that lucky bastard is me. She’s mine. Always been mine. Always will be.

My little Tiger sighs. “I died.”

“In your dream?”

She nods weakly.

I re-situate her at my neck, where she can rest, and perhaps let me bear her burden for a while.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I ask, wrapping both of my arms around her.

Kat’s lips press to my jugular, steamy breath making me shiver like a horny teenager. I know it’s wrong as hell, but my growing erection’s smashed painfully against my zipper. If I could will the thing away, I would. Getting hard at inopportune times is a curse. My dick understands this isn’t the time nor the place to ravish our woman. Yet, the ornery fucker doesn’t care. He’s raring to go just in case she calls him to action.

“No,” she eventually whispers sadly.

Content to hold my woman forever, I stroke her skin anywhere I can and cuddle the fuck outta her. My heart sighs its contentment. This is where she belongs—in my arms. Knowing something that might make her feel a little better, I reach into the cup holder for the unopened box of Sno-Caps she left there. Single-handedly, I open the container, pluck out a morsel, and blindly navigate my fingers to Kat’s mouth. “Here’s a little chocolate, sweetheart,” I prompt, so I don’t accidentally poke her in the eye, or worse, the stitches on her cheek.

Soft pillowy lips and a wet tongue extract the treat from my pinched fingers. My dick gives a slight kick. Fuck. That mouth’s perfection.

Kat hums her delight, savoring one of her favorite snacks.

“More. Please,” she mutters almost shyly.

Pleasure swells in my cock and chest as I oblige my lady and pluck another Sno-Cap from the box without spilling its contents on the seat. Once again, I find her mouth. She sensually rolls her tongue over my fingers to retrieve her gift with a happy little hum. I feel it all the way down in my fucking cock. As if she’s lickin’ me there. Teasin’ the head. Swirlin’ her tongue, not around my finger, but my crown. Sippin’ on my pre-cum. Lavishin’ it like she used to when we were together. When I hadn’t been a dumbass. If she keeps this up, I’m liable to come in my pants. You know how long it’s been since I’ve done that? Never. Okay. That’s a lie. Once. With Kat. Before I took her virginity. Only she doesn’t know I came the first time she let me touch her luscious tits. They did me in. Big, ripe, firm breasts that are more than a handful spilling into my eager palms. It was one of the best presents I ever unwrapped. Pretty, fair colored nipples to match her skin and blonde hair. One glorious suck and she was writhing. Then, I was coming. Hard. This is gonna end up the same if that tongue doesn’t behave itself. Hell. I don’t think she realizes what she’s doing.

Much to my dick’s delight, I feed Kat one piece at a time, and smother the string of groans she elicits with that sinful mouth. It’s pure torture.

“Ya want another?” I husk.

“Yes, please.” Her uninjured cheek nuzzles my shoulder like a cat.

Shoving my fingers deeper into the box, I extract another chocolate and find her lips. Kat curls her tongue under the candy, all the while shooting pings of pleasure to my balls as she suckles my thumb and index finger. Jerking my hand away as if it’s on fire, I inhale deeply, expanding my chest to full capacity before releasing the breath. It does little to curb the tingling in my shaft. I readjust Katrina on my lap, hoping that’ll keep me from having to readjust another piece of my anatomy. She doesn’t need to know this is turnin’ me on.

“How y’all doin’ back there?” Kade calls.

“Fine, Dickcheese.” Kat giggles. It’s a lovely tinkly sound. Almost as lovely as the woman.

Vanessa grumbles. Don’t think I haven’t noticed her tense shoulders. Or the not so subtle scowls she tosses my way every now and again. I’m sure there will be hell to pay once we get home. Vanessa isn’t gonna let me get away with this. If I were in her shoes, I’d be stark ravin’ mad that another bitch was on my man’s lap. The problem with that picture is: she presumes I’m hers. When I’m not. Yeah. We mighta gotten hitched. Nobody said I was a motherfuckin’ boy scout. But my heart has only ever belonged to one person. And, how’s that sayin’ go? The heart don’t lie. ‘Cause mine sure as shit don’t.

Tucking her legs higher, Kat turns in to me, nestling our daughter against my abs. Unable to resist the urge, I lift Katrina’s shirt without permission, for some skin on skin, and touch my daughter. She balks for half a second before realizin’ what I’m doin’. “I just wanna feel,” I reason.

“O-okay.”

She shivers but doesn’t tell me to go to hell. Progress. I’ll take what I can get.

Smoothing my palm across her stretchmark riddled stomach, I revel in her balming warmth. The little human inside moves, and I wanna crow like a proud daddy that my daughter’s puttin’ on a show for her pops. I press the spot, knowin’ just what to do, ‘cause this ain’t my first rodeo. Again, my angel shifts. If it wouldn’t cause more headaches, I’d talk to my little girl. Tell her that her daddy loves her. Only, Vanessa would shit a brick. And the last thing Katrina needs to endure is more Vanessa. It’s bad enough we had to travel to Texas in the same vehicle.

“She’s active,” I note, appreciating my woman’s tiger stripes. To some men, stretchmarks are a turn-off. For me, and my aching cock, it feeds our hunger.

Katrina places her dainty hand atop mine. The sweet gesture does something powerful to my pulse. Toying with its rhythm. “She is now. But she’s not as rolly as Scarlett or Rox.”

“Oh, I remember. Scarlett kept ya up half the night.”

And she did, too. All the time. It’s one of my favorite memories. An agitated Kat, deprived of sleep, unable to lay on her back, much less get comfortable. We’d lay in bed, facing one another, talking until her eyes finally slid closed. We were inseparable back then. I couldn’t get enough of her. Some would say that’s youth—young love. I’d say it’s my soul finding its better half.

“That she did,” she agrees wistfully.

“Those were some of the best times of my life,” I admit.

“Mine, too,” Kat whispers to my neck.

Swallowing thickly, I remove my hand from our daughter and fix her shirt. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. As much as I wanna fix this. To make it right. I’m no idiot. It’s gonna take time. Patience. And a helluva lot of perseverance. Baby steps. At least she’s in my arms. Gifting me a tiny slice of her vanilla scented heaven.

“Do you want more of your theater chocolate?” I change the subject to somethin’ lighter. Somethin’ that’ll surely make my dick remain hard. Yet, my pounding heart calm. It needs a reprieve.

“It’s not theater chocolate.” Kat chuckles, slapping my pec playfully.

“It’s not a road trip snack.”

Kat groans. “Not this again.”

“What? You know I’m right,” I tease to rev up my blonde bombshell.

“You’re never right, Br—Ryker. I thought we’ve been through this.”

Fuck. She almost called me Brent. This is the first time she’s slipped up since Thanksgiving. If that’s not a sucker punch to the gut, I dunno what is.

Ignoring the pang of guilt, I divert my attention. “Hey, bro. How’s it lookin’?”

“Good. Good. Rosie said we shouldn’t stop for a couple hours. After that, we can grab a bite somewhere off the beaten path.”

“You think she’s the real deal?” I ask. If Kade hadn’t told me what Rosie did, I wouldn’t believe it myself.

“Oh yeah. She’s … fuckin’ amazing.”

Kat snickers so only I can hear. Then mutters, “Somebody’s smitten.”

Don’t I know it.

When Kade woke me from my nap, he was standin’ next to the driver’s door with an expression of unadulterated awe on his face. It took me a good minute to get the fool to spill what went down. Apparently, as Kade tells it, they were hidin’ up the road beside a fence line. The Caddy in question was casing the area. My brother assumed they’d let them go. Evidently, Rosie had other plans. She flagged the car down. They stopped, unaware. Probably thinkin’ they were gonna help some tiny, helpless woman. As if she wasn’t a threat to them. Nobody would believe otherwise. Bing bang boom, two suckers were dead, and Rosie was dumpin’ their car up the closest dirt road. All Kade had to do was pick the dead guy outta the front seat and throw him in the back. Rosie did the rest. Pretty fricken insane. She’s a miniature Xena warrior princess with blonde hair. Unsuspecting as shit.

Knowin’ we’ve still got a long drive ahead of us, I relax further on the bench. My legs stretch into the aisle between the bucket seats. Head lulls back. Huggin’ my girl, I urge her to rest all her weight on me. I can take it. “Why don’t you catch a nap, baby.”

Katrina yawns. “I slept enough.”

“Negative. You had a nightmare. Not peaceful sleep. I’ve got you. No demons are gonna fuck with ya when I’m here. I’ll scare ‘em away.”

Kat shakes her head, amused. “It’s kinda sweet you think dreams work like that.”

I get it. She’s gotta question my logic. Only, I know I can protect her, and her mind does, too. Therefore, I’ll bet three hundred large that she doesn’t get another nightmare when I’ve got her in my arms, my pulse thumpin’ under her ear, body heat keepin’ her toasty. I’ll keep her wrapped up in her own Ryker cocoon where the demons won’t dare lurk. I’ve got this.

I kiss whatever part of her hair I can reach. “Trust me. Get some rest. It’ll make this trip go faster. Don’t worry. I’ll wake ya when we stop. Ya don’t need any more crappy Taco Bell and Sno-Caps in your belly.”

Another sweet yawn arises that she attempts to stifle and fails adorably. “Fine.”

“Sweet dreams.” I deliver a lingering kiss, nose stuffed in her hair. The scent of her shampoo invades my nostrils, drugging my system with dopamine.

“You, too.”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she just kissed my neck. Nah. That can’t be right. She wouldn’t do that.

Kat

Twangy country music blares through the speakers as I restlessly bounce in the passenger seat of the Suburban, anxious to get to the cabin. I need to see my kids. We just dropped Vanessa and Ryker off at her trailer to settle in, after a rather surreal drive where I spent nearly half of it in Ryker’s lap. He was sweet and comforting. Attentive, like when we were together. It was oddly nostalgic.

Ekkk! There. There it is! Ryker’s place. Hidden in the woods on the outskirts of Red Fort. Do you see it? It’s just as exquisite as I remember. Between the dense trees rests a dark stained single-story cabin. The two-toned shutters and porch swing give it a storybook gingerbread charm. Ain’t it adorable in every sense of the word? I can’t wait to see what it looks like on the inside. If the outside is anything to go by, it’s gonna be epic.

Turning into the narrow gravel drive, Kade navigates us around the squat building to the rear. Talking beside a jacked up pickup truck is my dad, Bear, and my girls. Happiness flutters in my middle at the sight of my family safe and sound.

Clapping my hands animatedly, I squeal, “They’re here. They’re here!”

No sooner does Kade brake, I throw open the passenger door and hop out. Roxie and Scarlett scream in excitement and fly at me with flailing arms and bright smiles. We meet in the middle of the vehicles, and I brace for impact as two happy kids slam into me, mindful of my belly. Simultaneously, I wrap my arms around their necks. Then we’re hugging and kissing like three crazy people who act as if they haven’t seen each other in decades.

“I missed you. I missed you. I missed you,” I chant between loud smooches on their foreheads, cheeks, wherever I can land. My face aches from grinning so flippin’ big, stitches be damned. Jubilant tears prick my eyes.

“We missed you, too! But we’ve been having so much fun!” Roxie vibrates with excitement. I’m never letting these little chickens go. Never ever again. Nope. Nada. I’ll die first.

An ocean of love swells in my chest. God. I missed them. It wasn’t all that long, and, still, after that drive, it seems like ages.

“Grandpa took us for ice cream. And we got to watch Titanic for the first time last night,” Scarlett singsongs with gusto, rubbing her baby sis.

I freeze.

Grandpa?

Grand-pa.

What?

How did this happen?

My mind reels with the news. What were they thinking?

Clenching my jaw, careful not to grind my teeth, I slowly lift my gaze to Dad and Bear, who’re standing with Kade beside the truck, watching us. Dad tucks his tatted hands in his back jean pockets and cracks a guilty half smile. He hunches into himself as if his shoulders weigh a ton. A strand of gray hair falls onto his forehead.

I can’t believe he told them. And, let them watch Titanic. They’re not old enough for that movie. It has a boob scene, and another that implies steamy sex. I do not approve.

My eyes narrow into tiny slits.

Bear raises both hands in surrender. “It’s not what you think,” he placates.

Sure it’s not.

Roxie notices my abrupt change in mood. “What’s wrong, Mommy?” she asks, assessing my face before looking at the men. Smart girl, she’s feeling the energy out. It’s thick with tension. I’m gonna knock their blocks off for this.

“I’m fine,” I lie, patting both her and Scarlett’s shoulders in reassurance. No need to make a scene in front of the kiddos. Even though Scarlett’s too busy cooing at her baby sister to notice what’s happening.

“Grandpa didn’t do anything wrong,” Roxie defends.

“He didn’t,” Bear agrees, palms still up.

Dad stares at his worn boots, kicking up dust as if they’re the most interesting thing in the world. If that’s not an admission of wrongdoing then I don’t know what is.

Kade frowns at me, accentuating the lines around his eyes. Guess he’s not supporting my stance on this. Too bad. I’m the mom.

Addressing Roxie, I ask, “Care to explain, sweetie?”

“Ghost won’t tell us. But Scarlett and I agreed that he looks like the man in the photos.” Ryker’s identical blue eyes stare back at me, so innocent and full of unanswered questions.

This is gonna get much harder for them before it gets any easier. Lots of secrets they don’t know yet. Stuff they’ll eventually find out. It’s not as if I can hide it forever. Nor do I want to. If Ryker hadn’t left, they’d know their father. If my dad hadn’t faked his death, they’d have had a grandpa long before this. The problem is, I’m going to be the bad guy. The one who has to break the news. To tell them the truth, or some version of it that I know their brains can understand. The last thing I want is them thinking any of this is their fault. Ryker didn’t leave them because of them. Just as my dad didn’t leave me because of me. Too bad kids have their own warped yet resilient way of dealing. I should know. My childhood was anything but easy.

“What photos?”

Calmly, I stroke her fine, blonde locks. When all I wanna do is snatch my dad up by the ear and march him through the woods so he can tell me how this happened. That’s what my grams would do. The woman who thinks her son has been dead half my damn life. Jesus. What a cluster fuck.

I sigh inwardly.

What’s a pregnant lady gotta do ‘round here to catch a nap?

All I wanted to do was hug my kids and nap. And maybe grab a bite to eat that doesn’t come from a fast food joint.

Guess this is what I get for wishful thinking.

Life can suck my lady-nuts.

“The ones on the wall in the kitchen. He has your eyes. His hair’s different, but he looks the same. And he has tattoos. One of them says my name,” the last part she utters in adolescent awe.

She’s smart. Too fricken smart for her own good.

Shit.

How do I handle this? What would you do?

I hadn’t planned on unwrapping the past until we were settled in.

Looks like I don’t have a choice any longer, now do I?

Sighing for real this time, I close my eyes, take a deep cleansing breath, and blow it out. To make this easier to confess, I press my lips to Roxie’s forehead. The closer to my kids, the better. “I found out my dad was alive in November when I came here to visit. I didn’t tell you guys because I wasn’t sure you’d be able to meet him. But, yes, smart girl, Ghost is your grandpa. And, Bear is, um … er … your grandpa, too.”

Chancing a glance at my men, to gauge their reactions, I’m shocked to my core when I see Bear clinging to Dad, hands fisted in his t-shirt, face stuffed in the crook of his neck, shuddering through soft sobs. To soothe his lover, Dad rubs Bear’s leather-clad back, speaking to him in gentle tones too low for me to hear. Beside them, stands Kade with redness rimming his eyes. He dashes the wetness away with his fingertips. I swallow hard. Watching people cry, makes me cry, dammit. They’ve gotta stop, or I’m gonna lose it, too. Pressing my lips together and blinking rapidly, I stave off the waterworks. These stupid pregnancy hormones need to be handcuffed and placed in solitary confinement for the remainder of my pregnancy.

“Bear’s our grandpa, too?” Scarlett whispers in surprise, a giant Colgate smile illuminating her angelic face.

Moving my lips from Roxie to Scarlett, I peck her forehead. I suppose the bonus of having two giants for daughters is they’re only a couple inches shorter than me, so I don’t have to bend to love on them anymore. Granted, that also makes me extremely sad. Watching your kids grow up is both rewarding and heartbreaking. You wanna put a brick on top of their head to keep them small. At the same time, you wanna feed them Miracle Grow to grow big and strong. Too bad Roxie and Scarlett didn’t take after me. Nope. Their dad’s super sperm had to gift them his height genetics. In a few years, I’m gonna be the shortest of the bunch. Perhaps baby number three will be like mommy. One can hope.

“He is,” I answer Scarlett. Deciding to delve further into explanation, so they don’t have to pry, I add, “Grandpa Ghost and Bear are … married.” They’re not. But that’s semantics. Commitment is commitment. That’s all they need to know. The fact that he’s also their dad’s father is a moot point at this moment. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Both girls’ heads turn instantaneously. Dad jostles Bear and lifts his chin, indicating that Rox and Scarlett are watching. “We—we’re gay,” Dad explains awkwardly as Bear collects himself.

“We know,” Roxie replies maturely, shoulders back, head held high. “You kissed Be—Papa when we got here. Mom has a lady she works with who’s gay. Her girlfriend’s real nice.”

And supremely kinky. Though they don’t know that.

Since before motherhood, I’ve thought it’s every parent’s duty to teach their children about those different than them. There’s too much hate in the world. Too much bigotry. The last thing I want is my girls growing up racist or homophobes because they weren’t exposed to people of different ethnicities or those who love the same sex. Different doesn’t mean better, nor worse. Love is love. Skin is pigment not character. Gah. I’m rambling again. Pretty sure I could preach on this subject all day. Don’t worry. I’m not telling you how to parent. If I were, you’d flip me the bird anyhow. Not that I’d blame ya. You do your thing, and I’ll do mine.

Taking care of his man, Dad wipes the stray tears from Bear’s rosy cheeks with his thumbs before chastely kissing his lips. Bear wraps his arms around Dad’s waist, touching their foreheads together for an intimate breath. It’s equal parts strange and adorable to witness. Bear’s this huge, barrel-chested guy with a long beard and kind blue eyes. Whereas Dad’s average and shorter than Bear by a few inches. Observing them side by side, you’d assume my father was the emotional of the two. And Bear the brawny, rough-edged, show-no-emotions badass. That couldn’t be any further from the truth. Like father like sons in that respect. They make a cute couple. Colorful tattoos and all.

To lighten the mood, I pat both kiddos on the shoulder before coaxing them toward the cabin’s back door. They follow me without complaint or question. Thankfully. I can only take so much before my emotional damn breaks, and Bear’s reaction has pretty much taken me to the brink. Any minute now, I’m gonna bawl. And it’s gonna be an ugly cry. That’s the last thing I need. Not when I’m supposed to be strong. Granted, this has been one of the most pivotal moments in my life. My kids officially have grandpas. Plural. It wasn’t how I pictured it happening. Hell. I never thought it would. If I hadn’t been kidnapped, this day might’ve never come.

Opening the wooden screen door, staring through the cutesy window, I try the knob. It’s locked.

“I’ve … I’ve got a key.” Bear wrestles it out of his pocket, offering it to me.

Dipping my chin in thanks, I slide it into the hole and pause, eyes on the black handle. This is it. There’s no turning back. We’re in Texas. Moving here temporarily. The girls start school tomorrow. My life’s changing. This is my new home. The four walls that’ll hold future memories. Ones that I hope, ten years from now, I look back on fondly. Not regret.

Kade wedges himself between the house and Roxie. Flashing a friendly smile, he sets his mitt atop mine and we turn the key together. Click goes the lock. Exhaling a rush of air, I pull up my big girl panties and enter the cabin’s mudroom, complete with rustic hooks on the wall, a deep sink, and a stacked energy efficient washer and dryer. This is nice. There’s a picture on the wall that says, ‘Love is the feeling you get when you like something as much as your motorcycle’. Covering my mouth with my hand, I conceal a snicker. That sounds just like Ryker.

Waddling deeper into the space, the cozy scent of cinnamon, warm vanilla, and wood instantly intoxicates me. Mmmm. They should bottle this smell and sell it everywhere. Ryker would be a millionaire by Sunday.

In the middle of the great room, I come to a standstill, overwhelmed by the… This is… Jesus… It’s like he snatched the picture-perfect cabin right outta my dreams, clicked his heels together like Dorothy, and poof … it’s here. I’m … I’m at a loss for words.

“Mom?” Sidling up next to me, Roxie touches my arm that hangs at my side.

“Yeah, sweetie?” I mutter dumbly, soaking in the atmosphere that’s turned my fluttery insides to a vat of pink sparkly goo. I … I … can’t believe this. From the earthy tones, to the thoughtful touches, it’s exquisite. This isn’t a simple bachelor’s cabin. It’s a home built for a family in mind. If there’d been any doubt that Ryker built this place for us, all doubts have been wiped clean. I couldn’t have designed it better myself.

Overhead, dark stained, hand-hewn beams accent the vaulted ceiling. The walls are smooth wood and slightly lighter in color. The floor’s wide planked hardwood and strewn with colorful rugs to warm the space. There’s a small living room next to the six chaired dining room table. The couch’s tan leather and flanked by simple side tables and lamps. The oversized matching chair with ottoman is right out of a book nerd’s fantasy. I can’t wait to curl up in it and read. Oh, and look, there’s a corner fireplace, too. How did I miss that? It’s huge. Covering the entire wall, floor to ceiling, with large unrefined stone. Above the hand-hewn mantel Ryker’s mounted a flat-screen TV. That sucker’s gotta be larger than any of the TVs we have at home. And here I thought my measly fifty inch was impressive.

“This is beautiful. Don’t you think?” Roxie finally says.

She, too, is busy checking out the space, as is everyone else. If my memory serves me correct, nobody aside from Ryker has set foot in this place. I’m sure it’s a little jarring to everybody else as well. ‘Cause lord knows, I’m still astounded. And we haven’t seen the bedrooms or bathroom yet. If this is what my insides feel like now … gooey and whatever else I’m feelin’, I can’t imagine what’s gonna happen once I see those. Then again, maybe they’re crap. Highly unlikely, though.

“It sure is,” I agree, spinning around to soak in the open kitchen. It’s the perfect blend of rustic and modern. Maple cupboards join seamlessly with the granite countertops. All the appliances are top of the line stainless. And that range … whoa buddy, check it out.

“Is that a six burner gas stove with a pot filler?”

No. That can’t be possible. They only have ranges like that in multimillion-dollar homes on HGTV. Not houses I can afford to live in. Rubbing my eyes with my fists, I clear them of any debris to be sure I’m not imagining this. Nope. It’s still there. Well, I’ll be damned. I’ve always wanted a gas stove. The one at my house is an old electric one left from the previous owners. I suppose it works okay, as long as you turn the temperature down twenty degrees or you’ll burn the back half of your food. It’s a fussy bitch that took me two years to master.

Scarlett meanders into the kitchen and does a full circle. Her too large flats slap loudly on the floor. I wish she’d stop wearing those. They used to be Roxie’s until she outgrew them. Unfortunately, they were adopted by Scarlett before I could donate them to the Salvation Army. “Mommy, you can cook a feast in here.”

“I know. It’s very nice.”

More than nice. It’s a good thing Ryker’s busy with Vanessa because all this praise would undoubtedly over inflate his already big head. Wouldn’t want to see it pop. I’m not Dexter Morgan. Icky brain matter isn’t my bag.

Uncle Kade trails Scarlett into the kitchen as if there’s a tether tied around their waists. Guess his attention’s better spent on Scarlett and the rest of the family than on uninterested Rosie, who said she had to run errands and would meet us back here tonight. That woman has to sleep sometime. She’s like the Energizer Bunny—she keeps going and going and going.

Curiouser and curiouser, I leave my family to their own devices and scout the rest of the cabin alone. Off the kitchen, there’s a hallway. The first door I come to is a bathroom. Standard, albeit rustic in appearance with moss green rugs and an outdoorsy shower curtain. The next room’s a bedroom. Basic cabiny feel, with a single twin bed and closet. Rosie’s place, if I have anything to say about it. There’s no way she’s sleeping on the couch.

Standing before the third door, I’m greeted with a handmade sign that says Daddy’s girls only. Shocked by the text and intricate craftsmanship, I read over each letter five times, debating if I should yank the sign off the door, so Rox and Scarlett don’t see it. By the sixth read through, I squash that desire like a bug. I’m doin’ the right thing by allowing it to stay. That’s the adult thing to do. It is. I know it. If only my gut would stop nagging me. This is one case she’s not right. Ryker designed this cabin. It’s his domain. It’d be disrespectful to tarnish the personal details even if they may pose uncomfortable questions. For all the girls know, he’s designed this room for Vanessa’s baby. Only I know the truth. If they ask otherwise, I’ll change the subject. They needn’t know.

Satisfied with my decision, a ball of something pleasant unfurls in my center as I push open my daughters’ bedroom door and gasp. Wow! Just wow. That’s… Wow. Afraid to enter in fear I’ll suck all the magic from the space, I observe the colorful retreat from the doorway. Pinks and blues swirl in a symphony of glitter and fluff. There’s a massive white bookshelf stuffed to the gills. Butterflies and fairies galore. Even the pink and blue fuzzy, oversized rug that’d look hideous in any other room, adds to the girlish ambiance.

“Mom? You down there?”

“Yes, honey.”

Slappy footsteps amble up the hall and stop beside me. A heartbeat passes in eerie silence followed by an ear-piercing squeal. “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Roxie! Oh my Gosh!” Scarlett jumps up and down, clapping, her blonde hair bouncing wildly. Roxie comes running and skids to a halt next to her sister. Wanting to appreciate this moment in all its glory, I step back as a stupid bout of happy tears skew my vision. I don’t think my smile could get any wider at this point.

“Is this… It’s… Oh,” Roxie stammers, frozen in place while Scarlett changes from clapping to a weird celebratory dance that includes twerking.

“Woo hoo! This is our new bedroom. Woohoo! I call the pink side!” Scarlett sings.

Having created quite the buzz, the men decide to join us. Six bodies in a hallway’s never felt so crowded. Yet, enjoyably so. Kade throws an arm over my shoulder. Holding out his phone with his free hand, he shoots a video of the girls exploring their bedroom.

“This is aweeeesome!” Scarlett plops on her bed, and her flats go flying.

“It is.” Roxie, my ten-year-old, is more mature with her approach. It’s slow and deliberate. If it weren’t for her massive smile, you’d doubt she loves the space at all. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she tests the density with a hefty bounce. A tiny laugh emerges.

My heart swells even bigger.

If I could kiss Ryker right now for giving this to our kids, I would. It’s a shame he missed it.

“Aww.” Bear sniffles.

“Are you cryin’ again, Pops?” Kade teases, camera still rolling.

“Shut it,” he grumbles.

Grinning, Dad chuckles and bumps his hip against Bear’s. “It’s okay, ya big softie.”

Bear wipes his eyes with the heel of his palms. “Shut up. I officially became a grandpa today.”

“You’ve been one for years,” Kade remarks absentmindedly, watching the girls.

“You can’t be a real grandpa unless the kids know about you. Now that Kat told them who I am, I get to play the part.”

Happy to have given him this gift, that I didn’t realize was a gift at all, I reply, “As long as you don’t let the girls watch any more Titanic, or do or watch things I don’t approve of, then you can see them as much as you’d like while we’re here.”

“What the hell’s wrong with Titanic?” Dad interjects, arching a stern, irritated brow.

Apparently, someone’s a bit touchy I commented on their movie choice.

“It has sex and boobs.”

Duh.

Dad huffs, shaking his head, lips pursed. “They covered their eyes for those parts. Just like you did when you were a kid watchin’ Captain Ron.”

Oh, god. I completely forgot about that.

“Or Dances With Wolves. Or Cry Baby. Need I go on?”

Wait. Cry Baby?

“When did you make me cover my eyes during Cry Baby?” Yes, I know it’s silly to ask, but I’m curious. ‘Cause I don’t remember having to cover my eyes during that movie at all.

“All that messy kissing. And the bucket washing scene,” he explains. “I have no idea what you ever saw in that film. It puts the cheese in cheesy.”

Affronted, I scoff and cross my arms under my ample chest. How dare he insult Cry Baby Walker.

Bear shoves Dad’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re gay?”

“Yes,” he clips, glaring at his smirking partner.

“Then you’d know why Kat loved that movie. The man rode a fuckin’ motorcycle and kissed so fuckin’ sexy you know he’d give great head.”

One second, Dad’s standing here slightly riled up; the next, he’s shoving Bear down the hall, back toward the living room. “Great head, huh? Says the man who ain’t gettin’ any for a long fuckin’ time. How about you walk a little faster. You owe me a BJ,” Dad admonishes.

Weird.

Eyeing Kade, I thumb point the way they went. “Care to explain that?”

He shrugs. “Ghost’s a little possessive. And given the week he’s had, he deserves a blowjob.” Kade winks and pulls me closer to lay a sloppy kiss on my forehead.

Ewy. Gross.

Wrinkling my nose up at him, smothering a grin, I swipe the wetness away with the back of my hand.

“A little possessive?” I comment rhetorically.

“If you think that’s bad, at a clubhouse party a few years back, Pops drank one too many. Some hang-around started chattin’ him up. Standin’ a bit too close. Ghost saw, kicked the dude out, and nobody slept well that night.”

“Why?” I massage my bump as the girls stay occupied in their new room.

“Let’s just say Pops was too busy makin’ up to Ghost. They were louder than usual. Scarred the brothers for life. Lesser men can’t handle havin’ a club brother fuckin’ dudes. Imagine havin’ a gay prez and VP. It sure as hell ain’t easy. They take a lotta shit and dish it out tenfold to maintain their reps. Can’t have anyone thinkin’ they’re goin’ twinkle toes faggy.”

I bristle.

Kade runs a hand over his short hair. “And, no, I’m not slurrin’ some homophobic rhetoric to be a dick. It’s somethin’ we gotta think about every day. Appearin’ weak’s a death sentence. There’s a prez from another chapter who hates Pops ‘cause he’s bi. When our parents got together, Big held church with all the club prezzes. I wasn’t there, but I know there were words and fists thrown. One thing every member knows is ya don’t fuck with Big Dick’s orders unless you wanna lose territory or your life. He busted some heads. Squared shit up. Now we gotta maintain the status quo. Which is harder than ya think when you got a handful of homophobic brothers always tryin’ to stir up trouble.”

Unsure of how to respond, I keep it simple. “Makes sense. I can’t imagine it’s easy runnin’ a club. Let alone bein’ gay in a straight man’s world while doing it.”

“Pops is good at it. He was born a biker.”

That he was.

A companionable silence descends upon us as we exchange quick smiles and side hugs. Content, I watch the girls in their element. It’s refreshing. I couldn’t tell you the last time I took a moment to simply watch them play—be. I’m always too busy running here or there. Working. Cooking. Cleaning. You know, normal life crap. I swear it feels like only yesterday I brought Scarlett home from the hospital for the first time. It’s crazy how fast time flies.

Kade films more of the girls, and I excuse myself to explore the rest of the cabin. Not that there’s much left to discover.

Touching the final knob at the end of the hallway, I peer over my shoulder. Kade’s too engrossed in my kids to pay me any mind. It’s show time. Giddy with anticipation, I close my eyes, turn the handle, and slowly cross the threshold one careful step at a time. Blindly padding deeper into the boudoir, I transition from hardwood underfoot to something plush. Worried I may bump into something if I go any further, I wipe my sweaty palms on my leggings and … chicken out. What if it’s ugly? What if I hate the design? What if there’s nudie magazines on the nightstand? Or a Harley Davidson comforter? Maybe a life size blow-up doll of Angelina Jolie, if Ryker’s into her. I don’t know. He used to enjoy her movies. For all I know, that was one of his many lies, concocted to appease me. To make me fall head over heels long enough for him to knock me up twice before yanking the rug out from under me.

Enough.

I shouldn’t dwell.

Now’s not the time for it.

I take a deep breath. The same cinnamon, vanilla, woodsy aroma permeates the room, easing my warring nerves. If it smells this good in here, too, it can’t be all bad. Cinnamon is the scent of Christmas. And Christmas signifies joy and happiness. Therefore, nothing can go wrong. I refuse to believe it will. Alright. That’s settled. I’m sticking to it. Let’s do this. I can…

Springing my eyes open, they instantly round into saucers. Holy mother of unicorns. My heart dives to the ground like a rollercoaster and shoots back up the next hill as I take a staggering step backward. Then another and another until I’m flush with the gorgeous floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace. Only that’s not what I care about right now. It’s the pictures. Dozens and dozens of them, everywhere. Of me. Scarlett. Roxie. Some of us together. Some not.

On the nightstand I presume is Ryker’s, is a box of Kleenex, a bottle of lotion, and a framed 5x7 of us kissing in the hospital the day Roxie was born. I remember when we took it. This was before selfie sticks and badass smartphones. Ryker had to hold out his digital camera as far as he could to snap a million pictures and pray one turned out decent. This one did. Geeze. We look happy. And young. So very young.

One-by-one, I examine the photos in detail from the same spot. Emotions I choose not to examine too closely flood my system. I can’t believe my eyes. This isn’t just a bedroom. It’s a freaking shrine. A sweet albeit kinda creepy one.

On the hand-hewn mantel nudging my shoulder is more of us. In the librarian worthy floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelf, where there should be novels, there’s not. Can you guess what there is? Dozens of framed memories that took place what feels like a lifetime ago. When we were happy, and I was madly in love.

Walking into the cabin, there was no sign of us anywhere. I didn’t expect there to be. Guess I should have. ‘Cause this is insanity. Though, among the strangeness is a kind of all-consuming warmth that encompasses the space with a feeling of rightness. From the cream duvet, to the fancy sleigh bed. All the way to the elegant chandelier and bear rug sprawled in front of the fireplace. A fireplace that puts the one in the living room to shame. Not due to its size. But its beauty. The hearth’s an exquisite slab of stone. Adorning it are all the tools needed to build a fire—a small stack of wood and a basket of pine cones. It’s as if a Hallmark Christmas movie has come to life right before my eyes.

Waddling to the far door that’s cracked open, I peek inside, expecting to see a closet. Except it’s not. Slipping in the bathroom, my eyes grow, on the verge of bulging from their sockets. There’s a fabulous sunken tub and a separate stone shower stall, complete with a dual pair of rainfall shower heads. The doors surrounding it are made of floor-to-ceiling glass. Hot damn. This is a massive en-suite with what appears to be not one but two walk-in closets. The first is full of jeans and t-shirts. The other, larger one, barren. I suppose this is where my belongings will go. Now all I need to do is have Kade carry them inside.

Eyeing the tub, I rub my palms together greedily. I could use a bath. A long one with candles lit and soft music crooning. This is the kind of tub you do that in. Turning the knobs, the water flows heavily from the rustic faucet. There was no expense spared in this cabin, that’s for sure. It gives any HGTV cabin a run for its money. Adjusting the water temp, I get it hot enough to turn my skin red, just the way I prefer. Then I set about exploring the cabinets in search of a washcloth and towel. Thankfully, they’re easy to find beneath the sink. Even the towels are luxurious. Softer than anything I’ve dried my body on before. This is gonna be a real treat. One I need after that horrible drive.

Making haste, I walk out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and into the hall in search of Kade. Only he’s gone. Crap. Voices carry from my girls’ bedroom, so I stop there first. On the floor sits Uncle Kade, legs out in front of him as Scarlett paints his toenails. It’s nice to know somebody’s secure enough in his masculinity to rock hooker red like a badass.

“Where’d you get the polish?” I ask, amused.

Kade and Scarlett beam up at me as he wiggles his sexy man toes. They’re like his brothers. I hate feet, but I always did think Ryker had nice ones.

“There’s a whole set of them in her nightstand,” Kade explains, pointing to the furniture piece flanking Scarlett’s bed.

“So you picked red?”

“It’s a Sacred Sinner’s color. Figured it’d go well with my cut.” He points to the patch on his back.

Nodding, I concur.

“When you’re done, do you think you could bring my clothes into the bedroom a-lone?” I emphasize the last word, making serious eye contact because I don’t need the girls seeing the pictures in the bedroom before I get a chance to take them down. They can’t stay up with us living here. Not unless I wanna have the daddy talk today, which I don’t.

“Did you know Kade’s our uncle?” Roxie comments from the bed, her nose stuffed in a book, back against the headboard.

“He is, is he?” I wink at Kade, playing along.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Scarlett asks, now applying a silver glitter top coat.

Boy oh boy. Let’s see him try to get that polish off now. He’ll need a damn chisel. Every female knows glitter polish is the devil to remove. I dunno if I should fist bump my daughter and her evil ways, or scold her for torturing her poor unsuspecting uncle. Nah. I’ll let him suffer and praise her for it later. Atta girl.

“I didn’t know I was supposed to,” I tease. Truthfully, the grandpa bomb was a tad much for me to handle that I didn’t think to address the uncle aspect.

“Mooom,” they drone in unison.

Taking a page out of Bear’s handbook, I lift my hands in mock surrender. “You’re smart. You figured it out.”

“Does this mean Ryker’s our uncle, too? Since Grandpa is married to Papa?” Scarlett inquires innocently.

Kade and I exchange a brief look of horror. “No!” we shout instantaneously. Needing to change the subject fast, so they don’t ask more questions, I add, “I’m gonna go take a bath. You ladies be good. No makeup on Uncle Kade. When I’m done, why don’t we order a pizza or something? I’m sure your grandpas are floatin’ around here somewhere.”

Doin’ the nasty.

“Okay, Mommy,” Scarlett says.

“Can we get mushrooms?” Roxie tests, ever the mushroom addict.

“I dig me some mushrooms, so we’d better get extra on our pizza. We can share it. That okay with you, little one?” Kade addresses Rox.

Tipping her book down, she smiles shyly at him. “I … I’d love that. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Kade returns, making her blush.

They gotta quit all this sweetness. My heart can’t take it.

We exchange a few more pleasantries before I escape to my tub that’s almost full. Forgoing the candles just this once, I peel off my clothes and submerge myself in a bathtub made for the Gods.

Sighing, I tilt my head back and chill. Tension bleeds from my muscles. The stress of the week seeps from my pores. This was worth the entire trip. To see my children safe and happy. For them to meet their family. To soak in this tub. For a few short minutes, I’m gonna forget all the bad stuff and embrace the good that’s happened. Guess that’s all you really can do. When life gives ya lemons, you grab some tequila and make yourself a pitcher of margaritas. This cabin’s my proverbial margarita. It’s inebriating bliss.

Kat

What a day. What. A. Day. After a bath that turned my fingers and toes to prunes, I dressed in one of Ryker’s Harley T’s that fits snuggly around my belly, and a pair of his sweatpants with ankle cuffs so they can’t drag underfoot. I might look like Tweedledee sporting MC Hammer pants, but I’m cool with that. They’re comfy. Kade delivered the suitcases to the bedroom. However, I didn’t wanna weed through them to find pajamas. Ryker’s clothes suit me just fine. And if I’m being honest, I kinda like the idea of something he’s worn before wrapped around me. Call me sentimental. I don’t care. It is what it is.

Once I emerged from the bedroom, refreshed, I found my dad, Bear, Kade and the girls chitchatting in the kitchen. We ordered pizza, Kade discovered a marathon of Harry Potter on TV, and we settled in for a pleasant, no stress evening of family bonding. Scarlett, as I suspected, stayed glued to Kade’s hip. While Roxie, my independent child, kept to herself. It was nice to catch up. By the time the kids’ bedtime rolled around, Rosie arrived, and took up her temporary quarters in the spare bedroom, after she double checked all the doors and windows for security purposes. The men left together sometime thereafter, leaving the Suburban out back and me with its keys. Ryker has yet to be seen or heard from. Now, I’m curled up in the dark on the oversized chair in the living room, reading a blue alien romance on my Kindle. For my protection, there’s a handgun on the end table next to me. I found it locked and loaded in Ryker’s drawer underneath his sweats. Figure you can never be too careful, and I don’t think he’d mind.

Lost in the world of weird creatures, snow, and symbionts, I’m sluggish to respond to the creaky floorboard behind me until the noise happens again. Heart jacking up my esophagus, I swiftly yet silently reach for the gun and curl deeper into the chair, hoping whomever’s in the house hasn’t seen me. There’s a rustling of fabric. Another creak. Whomever it is, is getting closer. Cold sweat beads on the base of my neck, goosebumps sprouting from toes to nose. Pressing my lips together, holding my panicked breath, I force my pulse to quit pounding fervently. I don’t want them to hear it.

Creak.

Screw this. I’m not a victim. I can’t just sit here and wait. If they wanna come into my house and fuck with me, I’ll show them who’s boss. Knifing up in the chair surprisingly fast for a pregnant chick, I aim my gun at the black figure standing next to the kitchen table. “Freeze, motherfucker!” Spewing venom, I cock the gun. Click.

The silhouettes’ thick arms shoot in the air before stumbling over the nearest chair and knocking it on its side. “Fuck!” a familiar voice booms. “Put the gun away,” he then demands, righting himself and the chair on four legs.

Decocking the firearm, I re-lay it on the end table, expelling a shaky breath. Fingers trembling. “What the hell are you doing sneakin’ into your own cabin at—” I peer at the glowing numbers on the microwave. “Two-fifteen in the damn morning. And where’s Rosie?” Some bodyguard she is. There’s a perp in the house, and she hasn’t gotten up to check.

Sauntering to the lamp beside my seat, Ryker pulls a toggle. Bright light floods the space. The shock’s instant. Blinking rapidly, I combat the colorful, floating dots obscuring my vision. It doesn’t help all that much. Propping my glasses on top of my head, I rub my eyes. Blink. Rub. Then reset my frames where they belong. Better.

Kicking off his boots, Ryker drops heavily onto the couch, rumbling a long, border lining erotic groan. “Why are you up? You’re not sleeping in the livin’ room, are you? ‘Cause I can’t allow that.”

Give me a break. Allow?

There he goes again. Digging under my skin. Not in the pleasant kinda way. In the way that makes me wanna stab him in the eye with an ice pick. Do they even sell those anymore? If they don’t, I’ll buy vintage. Make it bloody. Maybe even Snapchat it to Dad. We could laugh about it later.

Rolling my eyes dramatically, I briefly lift my Kindle high enough for him to see. “I’m reading. Is that something you can’t allow as well?” I snark.

Reclining on the sofa, he tucks an arm behind his head and crosses his ankles. Ryker’s shirt rides up a smidge, revealing a strip of tight abs and a dark treasure trail. I’m not gonna look to see if his V’s showing, or what brand of boxers he’s wearing. So don’t ask. It’s hard enough to stay feisty when you’ve got muscles that fine to stare at. This must be the temptation guys feel when girls wear low cut tops. Don’t worry. I’ve got willpower and years’ worth of resentment to keep me from falling for his hot bod—again. No more moments of weakness.

“Do you look for reasons to fight with me?” he counters.

Throwing a blanket across my legs, I get comfortable. “I don’t like fighting with anyone. I never have.”

Ryker’s brows pinch, gaze narrowing. “Are you wearing my clothes?”

Harrumphing, I rest my arms on top of my bump, chin held high. “If it’s any of your business. Yes.”

“They look good on you.” He winks.

I frown, ignoring the niggling ache in my cheek. Kade said he’ll remove the sutures in a few days. “What are you doing here? And why isn’t Rosie already beating your ass for sneaking into your cabin?”

“I texted Rosie to let her know I’d be home late. And I’m here because the girls start school in the morning and I didn’t wanna chance missin’ it.”

Refusing to acknowledge what that tidbit of information is doing to my innards, I slip into a more comfortable subject. “They found out both our dads are their grandpas today.”

“I know. Kade was blowin’ up my phone with videos. Red glittery nail polish? What a sucker.” The amused grin he pops brightens his entire face, reminding me of the man I used to know … and love.

Ryker’s happiness catches, and I find myself smiling to match. “Did he tell you the girls asked if you were their uncle, too?”

He chuckles, accentuating the laugh lines around his gorgeous blues. “Yeah. He said you both changed the subject. There’s no rush to tell them anythin’, Kat. I’m not gonna pressure you. I made my bed. And for what it’s worth, I’m gonna lie in it until ya tell me to get up.” Scratching his stomach, Ryker’s shirt hikes up to his belly button.

Genuinely relieved by his level of maturity, I drop my head back on the cushion, stare at the rustic beams, and unleash a tension-laced sigh I didn’t realize I was harboring. A horse sized burden lifts off my shoulders, dissolving into thin air. Jesus. I needed to hear that almost as much as I need my next breath. “Thank. You.” A rock of emotion clogs my throat. “Thank you for saying that.”

“Anytime, Tiger, and I mean that. While you’re here, I’m gonna be around as much as I can. Between the club and Vanessa, I know it won’t be as much as I want. But I missed enough of Roxie and Scarlett’s life. It’s time to start makin’ up for it. That’s why I’m gonna drive ‘em to school tomorrow. And the bus will bring ‘em home. They’ll drop ‘em right in front of the lane. It’s safer that way. Then, in the mornings, I’ll drive ‘em again. If I can’t, there will be someone here who will.”

A spastic hummingbird flutters in my chest. “You don’t have to do that. I can take them.” I’m giving him an out. One I hope he doesn’t take—for their sake. I want them to know their dad. Even if he’s not worthy of them. He could be. Eventually.

“Nonsense. It’s not safe, and you’re pregnant. You need to rest, so you and our daughter can stay healthy. You’ve had enough stress to deal with. It’s the least I can do. Besides havin’ you stay in the cabin.”

“Which is beyond amazing,” I praise, scanning my dream cabin before returning my attention to Ryker, whose eyes dip shyly, cheeks kissed by flames.

He chews the side of his lip. “I—I'm glad you approve.”

Noticing he’s bizarrely uncomfortable with my admiration, I ask, “Where’d you get the ideas from? None of this has prefabricated catalog written on it.” Sweeping my hand, I indicate the vast splendor.

Stroking his short goatee thoughtfully, Ryker’s ink covered forearm dances with each movement. “Lots of research, I guess.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Took lots of years to get it this nice. Had to replace the floor three times because of the weather. I’d get the walls built, and we’d get some big storm that’d destroy the tarps I used to keep the elements out. At least we don’t get snow like you. It could’ve been much worse.”

“Did you know you wanted to turn your bedroom into a shrine?” I blurt. Then slap my hand over my mouth, regretting the dumb words the instant they spill.

Ryker jerks as if I struck him. A grimace pinches his strong features.

“I’m so sorry,” I add, guilt eating me from the inside out. I’m such a bitch. Why couldn’t I have kept my mouth shut? Let it go. He had to know I saw the pictures. If he wanted to discuss them, he would have. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Abruptly looking away, like he can’t stand the sight of me, Ryker shoves his shirt back down to his belt line. “They’re in my bedroom, Kat, because I wanted to sleep with my family. It hurt too much to place them around the house. To see you three all day long, staring back at me when I eat or watch TV. Call it what you want. A shrine. A pathetic alter to the woman I fell in love with the first moment I saw her. I don’t give a fuck. For the longest time, it was the room I went to, to punish myself. I’d sit on the bed and drink half a bottle of Jack until I passed out, feelin’ guilty for leavin’ you and my kids. I know it was hard for you. I’ll never be able to take it back. But it slowly fuckin’ killed me.” Curling onto his side, facing the back of the couch, Ryker shuts me out. “I think it’s time you go to bed. I’ll see you when we take the girls to school,” he mutters solemnly, pounding the guilt I’m already feeling a whole lot deeper.

Nodding, even though he can’t see, I scoot awkwardly off the giant chair and set my Kindle on the table. Knowing I can’t let this fester all night or neither of us will sleep, I take the blanket I was using and drape it over Ryker’s prone body. Pecking the side of his head twice, I let the second one linger a bit.

“I’m sorry. The pictures are lovely. I didn’t mean to offend you,” I whisper, drop another kiss where I left the others, and leave him be. I’ve done enough damage for tonight.

Ryker

Flippin’ another pancake outta the pan with badass flare, it flops onto the dish I’m holding. Roxie and Scarlett cheer and my world gets a whole helluva lot brighter for it.

“Again!” Scarlett encourages, bouncing on her seat, all ready for her first day of school, sportin’ a glittery pink top and jeans. I found out today my girls have a thing for Converse. Between the two of them, they have six pairs. Three each.

To appease my daughter, I show off my skills with the twirl of the spatula and a flying flapjack that lands slightly off-kilter on its fluffy brother. Two pancakes down, I set those in front of Scarlett, pour a generous helping of syrup just how she likes, and top it with a pat of butter and a swirl of canned whipped cream. The same brand I used to enjoy licking off their mother. Mmmm … those were the days.

Scarlett mutters her thanks around a bite of pancake.

“Sorry I forgot to get bacon for ya,” I remark.

“It’s okay,” Roxie says as I pour two large pancakes into the pan to make her breakfast. At the clubhouse, it was Rox who got served first so I’m changing it up to keep it fair. See, I’m not a total moron. I’m down with the dad shit.

This morning, I may have turned off Katrina’s phone alarm so I could get up with the girls and she could sleep in. I reset it for an hour later to give her enough time to wipe the sleep from her eyes, and dress for us to leave. I wanted to savor this mornin’ with the girls, and after last night, my insides are raw as fuck. Kat sure knows how to bring a man to his knees. I barely slept a wink. Too busy replaying her words, guilt gnawing its way through my gut. By five, I gave up on sleep altogether and went for a two-mile run. Did a hundred pushups and enough crunches my abs are still on fire. It’s not as hard as it is for some to keep a body like this. But it’s not easy either. Instead of eatin’ pancakes, I’m havin’ a chocolate protein shake and six egg whites. It’s not the most appetizing, but I don’t think I could keep all the sugar down anyhow.

Waddlin’ out of the mouth of the hallway, hair mussed, still adorably half asleep, wearin’ my clothes, Kat shuffles over to the island and sits on the stool beside Roxie. “Mornin’.” She yawns behind her hand, head lethargically bouncin’ forward. There’s a pillow crease on her cheek.

She’s fuckin’ gorgeous.

I lift the spatula in greeting. “Mornin’. You sleep well?”

“That’s the nicest, most comfy bed I’ve ever slept in.”

Her appreciation soaks to the bone, fillin’ me with pride. Hell yeah. I did somethin’ right. Bought a mattress I knew she’d love.

Dazed, Kat rakes me with her confused gaze, turns, and does the same to our daughters. “Wait. Why are you dressed? And more pancakes, really?” Flickin’ her eyes to the microwave clock, they widen. “We have to leave in less than half an hour. Why am I just wakin’ up?”

She peers up at me, jaw set. It’s cute, her bein’ pissed in the mornin’, barely able to keep her eyelids open. She can bust my balls all she wants, ‘cause I’m not gonna apologize for spendin’ alone time with my kids and lettin’ her sleep in. She needs rest. Just as I need to bond, without her present. Not that I don’t want her around. I do. But, what I don’t need is snide remarks and judgment. Or, her sexy body distractin’ me, gettin’ Ryker Jr riled up when he’s not gonna get any.

Brushin’ her anger off with a shrug, I finish Rox’s pancakes with the same badass flourish as before and set them in front of her. I pour less syrup on top and forgo the butter, ‘cause that’s how she likes it. I remember these things. The whipped cream’s last, and I go crazy until I’ve got all three of my girls gigglin’ hysterically and a plate stacked with a mountain of white foam.

“That’s enough.” Rox holds her stomach, laughin’ so hard there are tears streamin’.

My love’s not fairin’ much better. Her face is red, eyes glistening.

Scarlett, the naughty little shit, swipes at the whipped cream with her fork, stealing some. Cracking a sly grin, she stuffs the entire pile into her tiny mouth, lookin’ like a chipmunk

Rippin’ off a paper towel from the roll next to the stove, I reach across the counter and swipe the leftover mess from Scarlett’s lips. Kat gasps a weird noise, and I freeze, the towel still touchin’ Scarlett’s mouth. Fuck. Did I do somethin’ wrong?

Scarlett, oblivious to the strangeness suddenly hangin’ in the air, snatches the paper towel from my hand. “Thanks,” she says, and dives back into what’s left of her breakfast.

Rox, cute as a button in her blue hoodie and jeans, blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail she did herself, looks between me and her mom. There’s no need for her to be brought in to our drama. They’ve got enough to handle, ya know, with movin’ and startin’ a new school. That’s a lot for kids to deal with. And they’ve not complained once.

“Go on and eat. We gotta leave soon.” I slide her fork closer. She mutters her thanks, and shovels what’s left of the whipped cream onto Scarlett’s plate. Who devours it with youthful exuberance. My kids are too damn cute for words.

I turn my attention to Kat, who’s starin’ at me funny. “Why don’t you go get dressed, so we can take the girls to school.”

Nodding once, seemingly at a loss for words, she climbs off the stool and goes about her business. At least she’s not fightin’ me on it. For once. It’s a good thing, too. ‘Cause the last thing I wanna do is pop a boner in the kitchen with my kids present. It’s bad enough I’ve been half-hard since Kat sat her sleepy ass on that stool, well rested and adorable as hell.

“You got your backpacks and supplies ready to go?” I ask, loading the dishwasher.

“Yes. Grandpa Ghost got us everything we need already,” Rox replies.

I load the cups from the sink from their dinner last night. Kade said they had pizza and two liters of soda to wash it down with. “Good man. I put money on your lunch accounts yesterday, so you’ll be set to get whatever ya wanna eat.”

“Why would you do that?” Peering up at me expectantly, Scarlett slides her empty plate across the countertop.

“’Cause that’s what family does. We take care of each other.” And I’m your dad, so it’s my job.

Scarlett shoves Rox in the shoulder, knocking her off balance. “See. I told you he’s family.”

Rox scowls at her sister. “I didn’t say he wasn’t. I said he’s not our uncle. Mom and Uncle Kade said he wasn’t. Remember?”

“Oh. Then what is he?”

Alright. This is about to get uncomfortable quick. Time to change the subject. I clap my hands together. “How about you go get both your backpacks, Scarlett, while Rox finishes her breakfast.” I sideways glance at the clock. “We’ve gotta rock-n-roll in five.”

“Okay.” She jumps off the stool as happy as can be and skips down the hall, blonde locks swayin’.

Rox licks syrup from the tine of her fork, deep in thought. “I know who you are,” she utters, starin’ at her plate. “I promise not to tell Scarlett or Mom I know. It’d make Mom unhappy.”

Fuck.

Fuuuck.

“Wh-what is it ya think you know, baby girl?” I sputter, hands tremblin’. I hide them behind my back. Way to go, dumbass. Actin’ twitchy is a sure fire way to eradicate suspicion. Not… I all but confirmed what I know she’s about to say.

Goddammit! Kat’s gonna murder me and help Rosie bury my corpse.

Glancing over her shoulder, Rox dips her head low and covers her mouth with her hand, so her voice doesn’t carry. “You’re my dad,” she whispers.

Jesus. The kid pulls no punches. Though, it feels damn good to be called Dad for once.

Backed into a proverbial corner, I’ve got two choices. Deny deny deny. Or, do the right thing and tell my girl the truth.

Restin’ my elbows on the countertop, inches from Rox’s face, I hook a finger under her chin and tilt it up for her to look me straight on. Her eyes are glassy. Lips red from chewin’ ‘em. With one hand, she scratches her arm anxiously. Yeah. I can’t lie. Not with those round, trustin’ eyes starin’ into mine, beggin’ for the truth—for a dad. For me. Swallowin’ thickly, I ask, “You wanna tell me how you came to that conclusion before your sister and mom get back?”

“Mom doesn’t know, but I looked in the box under her bed once. She’s got pictures of you there. I recognized you at that place we stayed.” She touches the side of her face. “I look like you. Even more than Scarlett does. And we both have your eyes. The same ones Uncle Kade and Papa have.”

Checkin’ the coast is still clear, I cup her cheek. She leans into the touch, on the verge of crying. “I fu—messed up. Your mom doesn't want you to know who I am, yet. She’s gotta trust me first. But, don’t you worry. I’m not goin’ anywhere ever again. You get that?”

Her precious bottom lip wobbles, socking me in the gut. “Don’t cry, baby girl.”

“I never had a dad,” she mumbles, taking a deep, quivering breath. A lone tear trickles down her cheek, and I catch it with my thumb.

Emotions grip my throat, refusin’ to ease. “No more of that. I’m not goin’ anywhere. This’ll be our little secret. You ever wanna talk about it, or ask me somethin’, you can. I’m your dad. I may not be the best dad. But I’m gonna try to be. You good with that?”

“Come on, Mom! Ryker doesn’t care if you wear lipstick!” Scarlett yells, exasperated. The stomping of her foot echoes off the walls. “We’re gonna be late!”

Rox and I share an amused look. I drop my palm as we crack dual grins. “Mom’s gonna be so mad. She hates when Scarlett gets like this.”

“Are you like that?” Drawing back to stand upright, I arch a teasing brow and wink.

Rox shakes her head, her grin curving into a charming ear-to-ear smile. “Never. I know better. Mom’s gonna skin her hide.”

“Scarlett, don’t you dare talk to me that way unless you want mama to bring the hammer down,” Kat scolds, her words easy enough to hear.

Squeaking under her breath, Roxie makes a fist and slams it on her open palm—bringin’ the hammer down. “She’s in trrrouble.”

Two sets of footsteps thud against the hardwood. A fresh-faced Kat emerges first with a sullen Scarlett on her heels. My love’s rockin’ that red lipstick. It complements her AC/DC hoodie, messy top bun, librarian glasses, leggings, and black glittery Converse perfectly. Some guys want their ladies all dolled up to be proud of the pussy on their arm. Not me. I’m proud as a motherfuckin’ peacock with a snot-nosed, sick as hell, pukin’ her guts out, Kat. Not that I want her sick. You get what I mean. I don’t need her tits hangin’ out for me to know she’s bangin’. I’ve seen her naked hundreds of times, pregnant and not. Her body’s a cock-pumpin’ masterpiece in any form.

“Are ya ready to head?” I ask, takin’ Roxie’s plate and settin’ it in the sink to rinse later.

She hops off her stool to join her mom and sister. “I’m ready.” Rox’s hand smooths down the sides of her hoodie. Scarlett mopes, handin’ her sis a black starred backpack.

Kat slings her purse over her shoulder. “Yep. Let’s go.”

Leadin’ the way, we make it out to the Suburban in no time. Tuggin’ the spare keys from my front pocket, I unlock the truck and escort Kat to her door, opening it like a tattooed knight in shining leather. She flashes me this strange expression I can’t decipher before climbin’ inside. Shuttin’ her door, I round the hood and get in. Checkin’ my rearview mirror, I make sure the girls are buckled, then reverse outta the gravel drive, kickin’ up rocks.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re sittin’ in the drop off line for school. “Don’t sweat it, girls. I went to school here. It’s a nice place.” My stab at enthusiasm falls on deaf ears as Rox and Scarlett stare out the window, watching the other kids. When it’s our turn for them to get out, Kat waves them forth. They quietly peck their mom’s cheek and exit the vehicle.

“Have a good day!” I two-finger wave. Roxie returns the sentiment with a small smile. Scarlett ignores me. I try not to let that sting. It’s impossible. Rejection sucks.

“Love you!” Katrina blubbers, removing her glasses to wipe her eyes.

God. I hate it when she gets weepy. It makes me wanna do relationshipy stuff. Huggin’, kissin’, cuddlin’— stuff she’d never let me get away with. The nightmare affection was a fluke. I’m smart enough to understand that won’t be happenin’ again.

“Love you, too, Mommy.”

Scarlett shuts the door and joins her sister on the sidewalk. I wait a few seconds, watchin’ them walk away until the asshole behind me honks his horn. Who the fuck does this douche canoe think he is? I grab the door handle, ready to pound his face in for disruptin’ this priceless moment I’ve been waitin’ a lifetime to experience. Kat’s hand on my arm is the only thing that stops me from makin’ a bloody scene. Instead, I roll down my window, stick my arm out, and flip him the bird. He can suck my testicles. Magically, there’s no more honkin’. Satisfied the prick doesn’t retaliate for his own good, I release the break and coast outta the parking lot.

“You were gonna beat the shit outta that guy in the car behind us,” Kat remarks once we’re on the road home. I can’t tell if she’s impressed or disgusted. With her, I’m never sure.

“I have wanted to see my kids off to school since they were born. He tried to ruin that. He’s lucky you were here. Or I woulda made him piss his pretty boy pants.”

Turning right, I slow to an easy forty to bide time. When I get back to the cabin, I gotta jump on the bike and ride to Vanessa’s to check in before goin’ to the clubhouse. We’ve got important club business to attend to. If it were up to me, I’d ditch my responsibilities and cook Kat a big breakfast. Not pancakes, ‘cause, apparently, she’s written those off. Then we’d talk. Not chitchat. Not argue. Really catch up. Somethin’ we haven’t done yet. Unfortunately, duty calls.

Proppin’ her feet on the dash, Kat stares vacantly out the window, lost in thought. I let her be. Droppin’ the girls off at a new school wasn’t easy on her, so I’m not about to make things worse. Takin’ the scenic route home, I give her time to decompress before returning.

Killin’ the engine behind the cabin, and pocketing the keys, I grip the steering wheel, preparin’ myself to say goodbye. I don’t understand why it’s always hard to leave her. It shouldn’t be this time. Not when I know she’s gonna be here when I get back tonight. And the next time. And the time after that. Even though my mind gets it, my heart’s a tricky fucker. It’s achin’ so fiercely I might as well carve it outta my chest and give it to her. The damn thing hadn’t started beatin’ again until she came ‘round. It’d been black as black, for years. This emotional, feelin’, achin’ shit is no joke. Not sure I like it. The guilt was almost easier to bear. At least that could be assuaged with a bottle of Jack.

Kat pushes open her door but doesn’t move to get out. “I know this is weird being around me. It’s not easy to see you either. But I understand where your duty lies. You’re welcome to see the girls whenever. I just want you to know that I don’t expect anything. I just wanna survive whatever this is and go home. I’m not gonna be a thorn in your side. That’s not what I want. So don’t worry about me turning into some jealous ex when you gotta go spend time with your wife. I’m not gonna ask questions. Your life. Your business. All I ask is that you respect me enough not to play games. We’ve traveled down that road before. The last thing I want is to get dragged down by it again. Once was enough.”

With that, she climbs down and shuts the door before my brain gets a chance to process.

Heaving a sigh, I glide a palm over the top of my bald head. It’s stubbly. About time I shave.

Playin’ games? Does she think that’s what I’m all about? I’m not playin’ anything. My life’s a complicated mess. I’m married to one person, and in love with another. Both of which are carryin’ my kids. Add the club war brewin’ and I’ve got myself the biggest cluster fuck of cluster fucks to navigate without endin’ up dead or in jail.

Screw it. I don’t have time to dissect Kat’s words. I’ve got shit to do. Starting with visiting Vanessa, who’s been blowin’ up my phone about her baby doctor’s appointment since six this mornin’.

Fuck my life.

Ryker

Straddlin’ my bike outside Vanessa’s white single-wide, I fire off a text to let Big know where I’m at. Ever since we got back to Texas, I’ve been runnin’ recon. Nobody but Pops, Ghost, Rosie, and Big are in on it. It’s hush hush. The less people who know, the better. That’s the best way to keep my family safe.

Big: Make sure she doesn't find out you’re on to her.

In the last forty-eight hours, Gunz’s brilliant ass has dug up some rather titillating evidence. For instance, there’s been a deposit of five g’s in Vanessa’s savings account. The only account I can’t touch. Although, I have access to her checking since I’ve been supportin’ her from the moment I found out she was pregnant. She doesn’t work, so the only way she gets spendin’ cash is from me. That extra dough was wired from a bank in New York. Not the city. Upstate, to be exact. Thirty miles south of a pansy-ass, woman stealin’s clubhouse. They don’t think we know about that remote locale. But we do. From what Gunz has deducted, Vanessa wasn’t kidnapped like Kat. She merely played along for the theatrics. Clearly, they weren’t bankin’ on us findin’ them before the meet. Now that their plan for retribution, or whatever the fuck they’ve got a hard-on for, has been foiled, they’ve further recruited Vanessa to impart vital information such as times, dates, names, and locations. And because I’m the closest to her, it’s now my job to pretend I don’t know diddly from squat, keep up the rouse by spendin’ time with her, and relay whatever I can back to Pops and Big.

Me: She’s been trying to get me back to her trailer since last night. Trust me. She’s too self-absorbed to realize much of anything.

Big: If you’re not giving her the D and you’re not sleepin over, she might suspect.

Me: Haha. You got jokes. I already told you I’m not fuckin her. Fuckin a rat to possibly help the end game is what got me in this mess to begin with. It’s hard enough being here every damn day. Night is nonnegotiable. I gotta sleep under the same roof with my kids and old lady.

Big: Fine. Fine. But, ya know, pussy might do ya some good since your old lady ain’t givin it up.

Me: I don’t even wanna know how you know that.

Big: Smart kid. Send me what ya get when ya can. We need to put this to bed. I’m already sick of dealin with these dumb fucks.

Me: Will do.

Shovin’ my phone into my back pocket, I dismount my Harley and take Vanessa’s steps two at a time. Liftin’ my fist to knock, I prepare myself for the next six hours spent in Hell. Tonight can’t come soon enough. I need to watch my babies sleep peacefully before makin’ them breakfast again in the mornin’. The prospect of that is the only thing that’s gonna get me through the rest of today.

Vanessa flings her door open. Smiling seductively, wearin’ nothin’ but a virginal see-through teddy, she twirls a lock of her hair around her finger. Vanessa’s dark areolas and stiff nipples form a sexy contrast to the sheer white. Lace drapes over the tiny bump that’s carryin’ my kid. The juncture between her thighs is bare. There’s no doubt she wants to fuck, and damn it all to hell, if I don’t wanna play just the tip—except not with her. Sadly, my pecker didn’t get the memo ‘cause he’s about to Mike Tyson his way outta my jeans. Hey, don’t you judge me. I’m a virile man. Not a eunuch. Tits are tits. Pussy is pussy. My dick appreciates it in all forms. Doesn’t mean he’s allowed to act on it, though, so don’t get your panties in a twist. Perhaps you should let Vanessa borrow a pair. Looks like she doesn’t own any.

Disregarding my erection and the half-naked chick in front of me, I push past her into the trailer. “Mornin,” I grunt, droppin’ onto her sofa and clickin’ on the TV to watch anythin’ that’ll distract me from her wantin’ to bone.

If only it were that easy.

Not happy with my brush off, Vanessa steals the remote out of my hand, turns off the TV, throws the clicker on the nearby chair, and straddles my lap, settin’ that silky mound right on top of my hungry snake. I gotta hand it to her—the bitch got game.

“Can I help you?” I act bored, crossin’ my arms over my chest to keep my hands from doin’ anything stupid that’ll have me pukin’ my guts out later when the guilt eats a hole through my stomach.

Vanessa threads her hands behind my neck and presses her tits to my mouth. Damn. She smells good—like honey and wet pussy. “I wanna screw my husband,” she moans, rockin’ her cunt on my crotch.

Nope. Not happenin’. Too bad for her that I don’t bang random holes when sober.

I jerk my face outta her cleavage. “Not interested.”

Knowin’ full well I’m lying, she calls me on it when she painfully grips my trapped hard-on. “He wants me. We haven’t had sex in months. And you can’t use the excuse anymore that you won’t fuck me ‘cause I’m too pregnant. You just screwed Ka-trina, who’s way bigger than me.” Nuzzlin’ her nose to my neck, Vanessa then sucks the spot beneath my ear that drives me wild.

Grittin’ my teeth, I throttle a groan. The last thing she needs is encouragement. This has gotta stop before I do somethin’ dumber than I’m about to do.

Threadin’ my fingers through the base of Vanessa’s dark hair, I yank her head back to keep her from maulin’ my skin any further. I don’t need Kat thinkin’ there’s somethin’ going down here that’s not. As much as she acts as if it’s none of her business—that she doesn’t care—she does care, and I do wanna tell her. I wanna tell her every single thing. Only, I can’t. Not yet.

“You’re my wife, baby.” Layin’ it on thick, the words leave a putrid aftertaste on my tongue. “And you’re close to givin’ birth.” Usin’ my free hand, I sweetly massage her bump. As much as I should feel pride that I got a kid growin’ inside her, I don’t. There’s nothin’ but shame. Once the baby’s born, I hope I’ll love it as much as I do Rox and Scarlet. I dunno if I can. I can’t imagine lovin’ anything or anyone as much as I love my three girls and the munchkin on the way.

Not finished with my speech, I dial the charismatic bullshit up a notch. Peckin’ her cheek, she inhales a shuddery breath. That’s when I know I’ve caught the rat in my trap, right where she belongs. If she wasn’t betrayin’ my club, this wouldn’t be justified. Now that I know what I know, there’s nothing I won’t do to pull her strings hard enough to have her gaggin’ for my dick like a lovesick puppy. “I swear the reason we can’t have sex is because I don’t wanna hurt the baby.”

Smiling as if I hang the moon, Vanessa cups my cheek, gazing adoringly into my eyes. “I know you don’t. I just miss my husband.”

Covering her hand with mine, I lean into her touch. “I miss you, too. Not much longer and we’ll have this club off our backs and I can move you into the cabin.” Hot damn. I’m a mighty fine liar. I didn’t even flinch. The sooner she gets off me, the sooner I can search her phone and plant the bugs Gunz had couriered by one of his connections.

Vanessa’s eyes widen in surprise. “You want me to move into the cabin after your ex leaves?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I want you with me always. I’m sorry I didn’t act like it before.” Game. Set. Match. “Now why don’t you go get dressed? I’ll take you to breakfast before our appointment.”

Swiftly dropping a kiss to my lips, she scurries off my lap. “Okay. I want waffles and lots of eggs. I’ve been craving eggs like crazy.”

Upholding the charade, I swat her ass playfully. Though, it’s not full enough for my taste. I’m all about the T&A. That’s one of the first things that attracted me to my little Tiger. She’s got both in abundance.

“Alright then. Eggs and waffles it is. Go get to it, sexy,” I comment.

With a little bounce in her step, Vanessa exits the room. Her bedroom door closes, and that’s when I extract the three bugs from the inside pocket of my cut. Sticking one under the kitchen table, close to the leg, I pause what I’m doin’ when I see her phone lyin’ face down on the counter. Scanning my surroundings and listening for her movements in the other room, I plug in her password that she doesn’t think I know, screenshot any suspicious texts to inspect later, send them to myself, then delete any evidence of my duplicitousness.

By the time Vanessa’s done, I’ve planted all the bugs and read through most of the screenshots. It’s a damn good thing I can control the way I unleash my rage, unlike Kade who would’ve hung Vanessa by now if he read the texts I just did. That’s why he’s not in the loop. He’s a wild card in general. Add his attachment to my old lady and he’s downright irrational. Not a single one of us could stop him from murderin’ Vanessa at this point. ‘Cause the conniving bitch has officially put the C in conniving. She’s informed whomever she’s been texting daily of my arrival and departure times. Where I go. When I get back. Has supplied the cabin’s address. Told them about Rosie and Katrina bein’ there. She left out anything about my kids, which is decent of her. If you wanna call any of this decent. There’s also been an exchange of fee negotiations. And a bunch of other bullshit I don’t wanna go in to right now, or I’m liable to start shootin’.

Fuck.

This is worse than I thought.

She’s in deep.

If it wouldn’t blow my cover, I’d ask her why she’s doin’ this. Maybe shake some sense into her naive brain.

Yet, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see why she betrayed me and my club. It’s written between the lines. She wants me all to herself. Katrina’s a threat. I didn’t think Vanessa had it in her. Truly. I know she almost always gets what she wants. And can be a cutthroat bitch. Her possessiveness around the club whores is apparent anytime she sets foot in the clubhouse durin’ a party. I just never thought she’d stoop to this level. It’s low, even for her. Hell. It's low for anyone with a heart still beatin’ in their chest. But, as they say … money talks. And Vanessa’s got another ten Gs to collect. Dumb cunt. If it weren’t for my baby growin’ in her belly, and the valuable information I’m siphoning, Big would’ve hired somebody outside the club to put her to ground.

“Ready,” Vanessa singsongs, prancing into the room, clad in a pair of designer jeans, a t-shirt, and leather ridin’ boots.

Eyeing said boots, I nod toward ‘em. “You know I’m not takin’ ya on the Harley, right?”

Vanessa’s bottom lip juts into a pout, and she clasps her hands in front of her, tryin’ to appear innocent and cute. A fair amount of cleavage heaves outta her V-neckline, dispelling that notion. “Why not?”

“You’re pregnant. Precious cargo don’t ride under any circumstances. We gotta take your car.” The one I bought her since the jalopy she was puttin’ around town was burnin’ oil and had more holes than Swiss cheese.

“Fine.” Snaggin’ her zippy hoodie, and her Property Of cut off the kitchen chair, she shrugs them on. I unhook her keys from the elephant holder beside the front door.

“Grab your purse. I’ll meet ya in the car … sweetheart,” I tack on for show before exiting the trailer. At least the doctor’s appointment should keep her preoccupied long enough that I can shoot these screenshots over to Big.

Unlocking her Toyota, I heave a sigh and slip into the driver’s seat.

Midnight can’t come soon enough.

I miss my little Tiger already.

Kat

Setting a large roast in the cart, I turn to its pilot, Rosie, who’s discreetly scanning our surroundings as if she expects Michael Myers to attack in the next aisle. If she wasn’t so focused on her job, she might actually participate in the shopping trip. When I suggested we pick up groceries for the week, she seemed fine with it. First, she insisted on driving because you can never be too careful. I obliged, since I know that’s what Dad would expect. Second, as a precaution, she drove around the small market twice to be certain we weren’t tailed. Third, before I was given the okay to exit the Suburban, she did a simple sweep of the parking lot. Forth, once inside, she subtly profiled everyone as if they’re criminals who may need apprehended. Even the eighty-year-old lady who picked peaches beside me had Rosie’s attention. I appreciate she takes her job seriously. I guess I just never considered what having a bodyguard would entail. She’s stoic, aloof, yet her eyes are continually evaluating. Most people wouldn’t pick up on her quick once-overs. But, I do. My father always taught me to be alert. To pay attention to details. Rosie’s a true professional by blending in seamlessly, when, in reality, she could kill everyone in here in under sixty seconds flat. Big couldn’t have picked a more competent bodyguard.

“Is there anything you might want to get while we're here?” I prompt for the umpteenth time. Either she doesn’t eat or doesn’t care what she feeds that tiny body.

“No. I’m good.” Her attention’s focused elsewhere. Too busy studying the messy haired teenager in the frozen food section out of the corner of her eye. He smiles warmly our way, and I raise a hand in hello. Returning the gesture, he drops a pot pie into his basket. Rosie frowns.

“You should wave to him. It’s polite,” I suggest because my gut says she doesn’t grasp social cues all that well. And domestic duties, such as shopping, definitely knock her off-kilter. Rosie ignores my suggestion as predicted.

Oh well. I tried.

Up next is the chicken. Picking through multiple packages of breasts, I settle on the heaviest family pack. “Do you like chicken?” I ask, carefully adding the package to our half-full cart.

“Sure.”

Rosie runs a palm absentmindedly across the shorn side of her skull. Yes, I said shorn. Rosie’s the epitome of a punk rock chick. Between her black, black, and … more black wardrobe, to her natural blonde hair, cut angularly at her jaw on one side while the opposite’s clipped short. Amazingly enough, it’s sexy on her. She has the face and bone structure to pull it off. No wonder Kade’s besotted. She’s gorgeous, petite, confident, and lethal. Granted, her social skills could use a tune-up.

Leading us down the next aisle, I stop at the cookies, determined to get her to pick one item for herself. It’s the least I can do. “Do you like cookies?” I hold out a package of Oreos in one hand and vanilla wafers in the other.

“Sure.” Rosie shrugs her left shoulder dismissively.

I sigh inwardly. That’s not good enough.

“Can you please tell me why you’re being so difficult? You’re staying with us. I want you to have food in the house you like. If you won’t tell me, I can’t buy the right stuff.”

Eyeing the cracker section in avoidance, she groans lowly. “Look. I’ll eat anything. I’m not picky. When I spend most of my time going from motel to motel, fast food, bad diners, and frozen dinners are pretty much all I eat. So when I say I don’t want anything, I don’t. Whatever’s provided is fine with me. I’m not your guest to dote upon. I’m here to do a job. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

That’s sad. I don’t want this job to be like the rest. Rosie deserves home cooked meals and common decency.

“Do you ever cook for yourself?” I tread lightly.

“No.”

“Not even when you’re at home between jobs?”

“Nope. I don’t have a home.”

I tuck a stray hair behind my ear and readjust my glasses. “What do you mean you don’t have a home?”

How’s that possible? Where does she go on her downtime? Where’s her anchor? Geeze. I have so many damn questions, and I have a feeling she’s not gonna answer a single one.

“With all due respect, my personal life is not up for discussion.” She shuts me out.

Bingo. Nailed it. I knew that’s how she’d react. Rosie’s carefully constructed walls are taller and denser than mine. I fully respect not wanting to get close to people. That’s how I’ve spent the majority of my life, keeping everyone in my life at arm’s length. Aside from my kids, Grandma, Dad, and Brent, aka liar face Ryker. And you’ve seen what trusting him got me. To be this distant, Rosie’s skeletons have gotta be far scarier than mine. I can spot a kindred spirit from a mile away. We’re more alike than I think she realizes.

Refusing to admit defeat, I drop both packs of cookies into the cart. Don’t think I don’t notice her sidelong peek at the sweets, and the quirk in her lip. Most women would give up their right tit for chocolate. I’m willing to bet Rosie’s the same. Even if she’s a brass-balled bitch.

Trying a different tactic on for size, I waddle to the bread section and select a crusty loaf to make garlic toast tonight. Swiping the back of my hand across my forehead, I exaggerate my level of exhaustion with a woeful exhale. “Rosie, do you think you could help me with dinner? Dad and Bear said they’d be coming over, and I don’t think I can do it by myself. This baby has zapped all my energy.” Which isn’t a lie. I could use a nap. My feet do hurt. Cooking does wear me out.

Finally looking my way, her eyes widen a smidge. “You want me to help you cook?”

Instead of asking if she can cook, I opt for the simplest route, so she doesn’t think I’m prying. “If you don’t know how to prepare the meal, I can walk ya through it.”

Rosie chews on her inner cheek, red lips pouty in contemplation. “I … um … sure? I’ve never had a job before where I had to cook for anyone, but I suppose I can.” She’s uncomfortable—finicky. Wow. This is a different side to her. One that’s vulnerable and unsure. In her element, Rosie’s a charming, silver-tongued badass. Here, not so much. I liked her before. Now that I know she’s got a moat of vulnerability lurking beneath that kempt exterior, I’m endeared to her. Whether she knows it or not, I’m gonna make her my friend. Not for my sake. But hers. Something tells me Rosie needs a friend, and since I no longer have a job, my love life’s nonexistent, and I can’t do much other than read or fiddle around the house, endearing Rosie to me in return will be a worthwhile task. Anything’s better than moping around the cabin, waiting for my kids to return from school, or Ryker dropping by to feed me scraps of attention. Attention I shouldn’t want nor crave. Even though the deepest recesses of my soul are desperate to soak it up like a pathetic sponge. Freud would have a field day with me.

Clapping my hands twice, I then point to the wall of crackers. “Now pick what crackers you like. Come on. Don’t be a spoilsport.”

Rosie curbs a grin that wants to break free. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” She chuckles to herself, combing her designer hair to one side.

“Nope. Not at all. You might be working a job. But that doesn’t mean you gotta eat nail clippings and pubic hair.”

Her button nose scrunches up. “Ewww. Gross. Whoever said I eat nail clippings and pubic hair? That’s nasty.”

I laugh. “You said you eat at crappy diners and cook frozen dinners. What do you think’s in the stuff they try to pass off as food?”

Realization dawns on her, and she shakes a playful finger at me. “Touché.” Snatching a box of buttery crackers off the shelf, she tosses them on the pile of groceries. “That work?”

“Better. Now you get to help me pick juice.”

More at ease pushing the cart, she replies, “That’s simple. Apple.”

I spot the juice at the end of the aisle. “The real or wannabe kind?”

“Real.”

In goes a bottle of natural apple juice and some fruity V8’s for the girls. Remind me to grab a jug of zero pulp freshly squeezed orange juice when I get to the milk section. Plus, I suppose I should get more milk. I didn’t check to see what the expiration date was on the one in Ryker’s sparsely stocked fridge. Though I gotta hand it to him, the canned foods section in his walk-in pantry is on point. Too bad I prefer frozen or fresh to canned.

Up one aisle and down the next, Rosie participates in deciding what we’ll eat this week. We joke about eggplant sizes. Opting for the biggest. I plan to razz Dickcheese about our purchase later. In the egg section, she does the picking while I grab a tub of real butter. All Ryker has is margarine. By the time we’re finished, Rosie’s aloofness has diminished considerably, and we’ve got ourselves an overflowing cart.

At checkout, she quietly helps me load the food onto the conveyor. “Don’t overdo it, Kat. I’ll get the rest,” she remarks when I try to reach the bottom of the cart and fail miserably, thanks to this giant bump and my vertically challenged legs. Frustrated, I concede, knowing it’s for the best.

“Thanks,” I comment.

She waves me off. “No problem.”

Underneath the cart, Rosie goes to lift the flat of bottled water when a gentlemen wearing a Sacred Sinners cut and Stetson intrudes. “Here. Why don’t ya let me get that for ya, doll.” The man kneels next to Rosie to help. For a split second, I wonder if she’ll pull a blade on him. She shocks me when she scoots back and lets him intervene. Smart woman.

Setting the water on the belt with ease, he turns to me with a toothy grin. “You must be Katrina, Ghost’s daughter.” He offers his hand.

It’s warm and firm in mine as we shake. “Nice to meet you…” I pause to read the name patch on his broad chest. “Bongo.”

Dipping his head out of respect, he kisses my knuckles. “The pleasure’s all mine, ma’am. If you need anythin’ at all, don’t hesitate to ask,” he drawls in his panty melting Texan twang.

Flashing him a parting smile, trying desperately not to blush, I bid him adieu, and check out.

Three hundred dollars later, we load up the Suburban. It’s a breeze with Rosie’s assistance. Normally, I do all the heavy lifting. Now let’s see if she can survive Kat’s no-nonsense cooking school. Eggplant lasagna is on the menu tonight. Before she knows what’s hit her, I’m gonna make Rosie a three-star chef and a friend.

Kat

Seated on a stool in the kitchen so I can cook with Rosie and rest my tired feet, I stroke an eggplant against my uninjured cheek to annoy Kade. “You’re a pretty vegetable, aren’t you? Such a good boy,” I coo.

“You’re a pervert.”

Kade grimaces, and Rosie laughs alongside Dad and Bear. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t display this sorta lewdness if my girls were present. They’re currently busy doing homework in their bedroom. The rest of my family showed up about twenty minutes ago with warm hugs, empty stomachs, and a homemade pecan pie to salivate over. Wonder if I can sneak it into my bedroom to eat later. Think anyone would notice it went missing? One small slice isn’t going to appease baby number three. She needs at least two large slices and half a can of whipped cream to be happy. Yep. It’s baby number three’s fault. That’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it.

“Do you think this sauce needs any more garlic or sugar?” Rosie lifts a spoonful of hot tomato sauce to my lips. Careful not to scald my tongue, I blow the steam away until it’s edible before sampling.

“Mmmm. That’s really good. It could use a pinch more sugar and another clove of garlic. You can never go wrong with lots of garlic.”

Nodding like a competent sous chef, Rosie, clad in a pair of black, skintight jeans and a black off the shoulder t-shirt, minces another fat clove of the garlic we bought and sweeps it into the boiling pot. I have to hand it to Ryker, he has top of the line pots, pans, knives, utensils, and gadgets. There’s a garlic press in the drawer, but I decided Rosie should learn to mince by hand. She’s a quick study. Roxie and Scarlett, for their age, are also well versed in the kitchen. By seven, they could scramble eggs, pound chicken breast, and prepare any type of boxed food. Not to say they don’t make a mess while doing it, but they’re capable nonetheless. I’m determined to get Rosie to their caliber. If not higher.

Returning my attention to Kade and the eggplant, I lick the tip of the vegetable, pretending it’s a cock. “Do you like that? You want more, big boy?” I husk, lavishing the purple skin with the flick of my tongue. “How about that?”

Lifting it to my ear, I pretend it’s imparting a slew of naughtiness. Committing to the role, I faux shiver and roll my fluttery eyes back into my skull. “Oooo. You wanna do that to me there. I dunno if I’ll like it.”

At this point, Bear’s laughing so hard he’s barely breathing, Dad’s silently cracking up, and Kade’s as red as a fire engine.

“We gotta eat that, Watermelon Tits.”

My bestie’s dismayed.

I balk, hugging the vegetable to my chest to protect it. “You can’t eat my boyfriend.”

Kade cants his head, grinning half-cocked. He totally loves me. “Woman, where in the hell do you come up with these things to drive me up the wall?”

“What are you talking about? You love purple eggplants. You text them to me all the time.”

Payback’s a bitch.

“I do not.”

“You so do. Do you not remember all the texts where I’m like, hey what are you up to?” Setting the veggie on the counter, I pretend to text on an invisible phone for emphasis. “And you respond with a purple eggplant and a splashing water emoji. That wasn’t code for an emotional vegetable, now was it?”

Palm to face, Kade slowly drags it down, chuckling guiltily. “Jesus. You asked what I was doin’ and I was bein’ honest.”

I’ve been patiently waiting months to bake Kade purple eggplant lasagna to get my sweet revenge for his texts. One text, I could’ve shrugged it off. By the twentieth, I was committed to seek retribution. Not only was he rubbing my nose in his ample sex life, he was relaying the sordid details. Not that I’m angry about it. It’s actually kinda hilarious. But that’s beside the point. I’m merely repaying the favor in front of Rosie to embarrass him. Oh, the strange things we do to the men we adore.

“Riiiight. So the next time I have a masturbatory sesh in the shower and you text, I’m gonna reply with a peach, water splashing emoji, and the ‘O’ face. After that, I’ll tell you all about the water hittin’ my who-ha and the way it makes my legs quake,” I deadpan, fiddling with the A necklace around my neck.

Rosie snickers next to me.

Bear snorts and wipes the tears from his reddened face. Dad pats his shoulder to check if he’s good. We don’t want the poor guy croaking on us.

Lifting his hands in mock surrender, Kade yields. “Alright. Alright. You made your point.”

Gloating, I press my shoulders back, nose turned up. “Damn straight.”

“You’re making eggplant lasagna to torment me, aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

Tickled pink, Kade rests his elbows on the counter. Propping his chin on his knuckles, he stares longingly at me. What a damn nutcase. My nutcase. “And you wonder why you’re my favoritest person in the entire world.”

With theatrical flair, I clasp my hands over my chest. “Aww. Be still my beating heart. He loves me. He really loves me.” I perform the heck out of my Scarlett O’Hara impersonation—expression virginally dreamy. It lasts all of fifteen seconds before I collapse into a fit of giggles. Kade joins in, and, soon, the whole mess of us are busting a gut at our strange banter.

Gathering my composure, I wink at the fool. “I love you, boo boo.”

Standing from his stool, he blows me a kiss. “Love you totes more.”

Rolling my eyes, I giggle. “Don’t let the girls hear you say that. Or they’re liable to think Uncle Kade’s hip.”

Winking back dramatically, he then bounces his perfectly symmetrical eyebrows. “Well. I totes am.” Pivoting on his boot heel, he makes a mad dash down the hall. “Did you hear it, girls? Uncle Kade is totes cool!”

Yep. That’s my best friend. Crazy. Weird. Perverted. And a dash of amazing.

Not done with razzing, I two finger point to Bear, who’s grinning like a loon. The laugh lines around his eyes are heavily creased. “He’s your son. I blame you for dropping him on his head as a baby. The longer I know him, the odder he becomes.”

“I think it’s you who brings out the best in him. Well, the best in us all.”

“Bear’s right,” Dad adds.

I fan my face.

Oh. Look at the pregnant girl getting all emotional. Super. Great. Fantastico. Of course, they gotta be all sweet on me. Damn these adoring men.

Opening my arms wide, I wave them forth with my fingers. Bear’s the first to wrap me in a warm, manly scented hug. His beard scratches my neck and then my cheek when he kisses me there. “Love you, darlin’. So glad you’re here, even if it ain’t under the best circumstances,” he mutters in my ear so only I can hear. Sucking back a stupid girly sniffle, I nod in agreement.

Dad pats his lover’s butt as they switch places. Daddy’s hug is warm and gooey. Stuffing my face in his neck, I smell my father. Since I was a kid, he’s always smelt the same—like aftershave, wood, motor oil, and Marlboro Lights. It might sound unappealing, yet, to me, his daughter, who thought he was dead, he smells of life, of happiness, of fond memories.

Pulling back, Daddy cups my jaw in both hands, matching eyes on mine. “Love you, peanut. Thanks for bein’ here.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

Pressing a kiss to my upturned forehead, he then baps my nose with his index finger, winks, and returns to his stool.

It’s time to get this cooking show on the road. I gotta feed my big men, Rosie, and the girls.

Calling out orders in quick succession, Rosie finds me the mandolin, and I begin slicing these eggplants into even strips. It doesn’t take long before we’re stacking cheese, sauce, meat, and the purple veggie into a glass casserole dish. In an hour, we’ll be scarfing down one of the best meals I’ve eaten in ages. It’s been months since I baked eggplant lasagna. All that bubbly cheese and garlic is gonna give me mouthgasms lickety-split.

Kat

After Ryker left this morning, I escaped to my room for an hour to recoup before asking Rosie to go shopping. It took a lot out of me; spending that short amount of time with him. Seeing him wipe whipped cream from our daughter’s face will be a memory I’ll cherish forever. It was so simple—innocent. A gesture nobody would blink twice at. Except for me … who’s been the one to wipe my girls’ faces since he disappeared, leaving nothing but a damn note and a broken heart in his devastating wake. I’m the one to help blow their noses when they’re sick. Clean their dishes. Cook them breakfast. And, for one day, I didn’t have to worry about any of it. Not their clothes. Their shoes. If their hair was brushed. If they remembered to wear their necklaces. None of it was left up to me. Sure, Ryker shut down my alarm. But what he gifted me in return is more precious than the sparkliest diamond. As if spinning on a turnstile, that short memory has plagued me all day at the most inopportune times. Making my stomach dip, my heart expand, and everything feel oddly, dare I say—right? That very same feeling haunts me still as I sit in the quiet living room, on my favorite chair, reading yet another sci-fi romance. It was time to put the hot biker books to rest. When you’re visited by three or four weapon toting, leather wearing, hard asses each day, there’s not much left up to your imagination. Plus, I don’t need my thoughts to run any more rampant with shootouts. I’ve lived through enough drama, and got the stitches to prove it. Blue aliens are more my style at this point anyhow. At least that shit ain’t real. Oh. And did I forget to mention they have ribbed for her pleasure dicks, and a clit ticklin’ spur? Hell. Maybe these big velvety motherfuckers should be real. I dunno about you, but a two for one dick sounds mighty fine to me. Who am I kidding? Any cock sounds appealing. I’ve been laid a total of three times since Ryker left after Scarlett was born. And all of those times have been in the last year. To be honest, I’m surprised the vag hasn’t closed up shop by this point. Stitched herself together with steel thread. She’s gotta be tired of getting knocked up by Señor Assholio. After baby number three comes out, I’m getting my tubes tied. Then maybe I can find myself a decent boyfriend. Ha! That’s hilarious. Are you laughing, too? I’m gonna die alone at the rate I’m going. But at least I’ll have Kade by my side, flippin’ God the bird when the Grim Reaper comes a’knockin’.

Snuggling deeper into the cushions, gun on the end table for safety, the light still on, I’m transported to a fantasy world of snow. All my thoughts scatter, and here I am, trudging through the cold tundra with my latest heroine. The frigid air tickles my nose, and time fades to nothing but an idea upon the wind.

Ryker

Bitin’ her bottom lip, lost inside a fictional world, Kat’s eyeballs dance side to side, soaking in the pages of her latest book. She’s so fuckin’ adorable, and oblivious as all get out. I’ve been standin’ here watchin’ from her peripheral for the last ten minutes. She hasn’t moved once. Not sure if I should interrupt my content Tiger or not. I don’t want her claws to come out.

Fuck it.

Needin’ to hear her voice after the shit show today’s been, I clear my throat roughly to alert her of my presence. Kat’s shoulders startle for half a second before her gaze flits in my direction. “Ryker,” she gasps a sexy little breath.

My cock takes that as an invitation, chubbin’ to a semi. Down boy.

Havin’ already removed my cut and boots in the mudroom, I sprawl out on the couch, even though I’m itchin’ to hug and kiss my lady after an exhausting day. There’s nothing better than her lips on mine to make the world less bleak. Sadly, that ain’t gonna happen so her mere presence will have to do.

“I didn’t think you’d be back,” she admits, a crinkle forming between her pale brows. She looks cute as hell in another pair of my sweats and a vintage Guns N Roses shirt. Her golden locks fall in thick waves over her shoulders, touching the peaks of her braless breasts. Kat must be chilly ‘cause there’s some definite THOs greeting me. Not that I mind.

Playin’ it cool, I tuck a hand behind my head to show off my bicep. If I didn’t know how attracted my little Tiger is to me, I wouldn’t deliberately tempt her. But don’t think I didn’t notice her ogling me last night. It feels damn good knowin’ she still wants me on some level, even if it’s physical. I’ll take scraps at this point.

“I told you I’m gonna be around as much as I can. If that means gettin’ here late, wakin’ up early to make my daughters breakfast, and then take ‘em to school, I’m gonna do it. Unless you have a problem with that.”

Kat sets her Kindle on the end table beside the loaded gun and pulls her blanket high enough to cover those luscious tits. “I don’t mind. That’s fine. I just assumed you’d stay with Vanessa.”

I bark a humorless laugh. “Uh. No. I spent too much time with her today as is.” Breakfast. Doctors. Clubhouse. Market, after I saw Kat leave with Rosie. And the rest of the night at her place watchin’ Project Runway so I could keep an eye on her. Babysitting your soon-to-be ex, who’s young and immature, is annoying. Add the fact I gotta do the same tomorrow, and I’m not sure I’ll survive the week. There’s only so many baby name conversations you can argue through before you wanna end it all. It’s worse when you can’t agree on a single one. My brother and I have strong names. Dad gave ‘em to us so we wouldn’t need road names when we got older. But she likes sissy unisex crap like Taylor, Madison, and Juniper. Who the fuck names their kid Juniper, unless they want them to get the shit kicked outta them the rest of their life?

“Did you eat dinner? Because if you’re hungry, there’s leftovers in the fridge. If you can find them. We … um … Rosie and I went a little crazy at the store today,” Kat says.

She’s quite the clever subject changer. Evidently, she doesn’t wanna discuss Vanessa, which is fine by me. We’ll pretend she doesn’t exist.

“What is it?” I ask, genuinely curious. I’ve always enjoyed my old lady’s cookin’. Anythin’ her hand's touch turns to gold—food wise.

“Kade didn’t tell you?” Her sweet, fluttery tone peaks a few decibels.

My other hand joins his brother behind my head, givin’ her a double gun show. Was that lame? Yup. Pretty fuckin’ lame. Remind me never to use that term again. “Was he supposed to?”

“I figured he would.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I made him eggplant lasagna.”

I’m jealous. That sounds goddamn amazing.

“And?”

Is there a point here I’m not gettin’?

For whatever reason, Kat shifts on the chair, flustered, and combs fingers down her hair. “Does he not send you purple eggplant texts?”

“Is he supposed to?”

What’s she—

An alarm of police sirens and flashing lights goes off in my brain.

He better not have done what I think she’s referring to. Knowing my brother, he did. Red hot rage suffuses my veins. I’m gonna murder that motherfucker.

“Why the hell is Kade sendin’ you dick emojis?” I grate. Who sends their brother’s old lady pecker texts? I don’t give a dirty rat’s ass if they’re friends or not. You don’t do that shit.

Kat’s eyes round as she lifts a cautious palm to tame the beast. Nope. I can’t be tamed. I’m gonna call this disloyal bastard right now.

On a mission, I jerk the phone from my front pocket. Kat’s frantic voice intercepts my intent. “It was a joke. They were jokes. Don’t call him, Ryker. Please.”

Exhaling harshly, I toss the cell on the floor to get it away from me before I do something rash. The last thing I want is Kat pissed that I handled her business for her. Been there, lived through that. She’s a grown ass woman. It’s hard to remember she can take care of herself for the most part. If she was upset that Kade sent those texts, they wouldn’t have had dinner together. As logical as that may be, it ain’t enough to make me forget. My bro and I will have words, some fists, and a whole lotta bruises by the time the score’s settled.

Tucking my arms across my pecs, I grumble through clenched teeth, “Enlighten me on these jokes.”

By the way Kat’s eyeing my face, I can tell she’s surprised by my reaction. As if there’d ever be a different one. “I used to ask him what’s up, and if he was gettin’ busy, he’d send me a purple eggplant emoji and water splashing.” She shrugs as if it ain’t a big deal.

“I see.” Yeah, I’m not findin’ the humor in this. “So my brother sends you an ejaculatory dick emoji to mess around, and to get back at him, you cook eggplant lasagna?” To me, it sounds like she’s rewardin’ him for bein’ a d-bag.

Kat pinches the bridge of her nose above her glasses, where the skin’s still discolored from the kidnapping. “It’s not like that. Forget I said anything. There’s leftovers in the fridge if you want some. If not, that’s cool. I was offering. Not trying to start another fight with you.”

“Babe, I’m not fightin’ with you. I’m just mad at my jackass brother. If he had a woman and I was talkin’ to her like that, he’d put a knife to my throat.” Truth.

Kat perks right on up. Fire blazes behind her eyes, and my dick goes insta hard. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m not your woman then.”

“Think whatever you want.” That’s her right.

“Facts, Ryker. Facts. I’m not thinkin’ anything. I’m explaining facts.” Kat snaps her fingers and does a little whirly motion with her pointer. “The fact is: your brother and I are friends. He teases me with stupid texts. So what? What do you consider to be a larger offense? A man who doesn’t have kids with me, who loves me platonically, who happens to send me silly perverted texts. Or … the man who—”

“Stop right there,” I interject, raising a hand to circumvent the treacherous path this is about to travel down. “We are not gonna go around and around and around with this. Not again. I love you. You don’t love me. I get it. But I’m not gonna sit here and have you constantly give me shit for the past I can’t fix. Hate me. That’s your choice. But what’s that doin’ for you? Does that make you feel better? Sure, I don’t fuckin’ like my bro talkin’ like that with you … the only woman in the universe I’ve ever thought of as mine. You may not agree. Can’t say I blame ya. That doesn’t matter in here, though.” I thump a fist over my heart. “This beats and will continue to beat for one woman. That’s the facts, Tiger, whether you choose to acknowledge them or not.” Squeezing my eyes shut, exhausted by this conversation that’ll never lead to a damn thing, I expel a tiresome groan.

Why do we keep doing this to ourselves?

Giving myself a three-second reprieve to feel sorry for my aching heart, I reopen my eyes, get off the couch, ignore Kat’s wandering gaze, and get myself some delicious food from the fridge. There’s not much left, so I take it all. There’s no way I’m sharing these leftovers with anyone else. One thing’s for certain, I’m a greedy asshole.

Dumping the garlic-scented heaven onto a plate, I shove it in the microwave and nuke it for two minutes. Watching the time tick down, I lean against the countertop, cross my ankles and arms, and revel in the domesticity. A year ago, if you would’ve told me I’d be standin’ here in my kitchen, eatin’ a home cooked meal, watchin’ my old lady not so subtly peek at me out of the corner of her eye with deep concern, I would’ve had you committed. I may have built this cabin with her and the kids in mind, but that was a pipe dream. Year after year, I’d change the girls’ bedroom to keep up with their ages, likes and dislikes, on the off chance my dreams would come to fruition. I’d pay close attention to the surveillance videos and pictures. Anything to give me a sense of who they are. The fairies and glittery girl crap came to me around Christmas. And because I couldn’t be with them, I designed a brand new room instead. Made the sign for the door. Built the bookcase by hand to keep me busy. The beds were tricky, but I can follow instructions well. YouTube has some great DIY tutorials.

Food piping hot, I take it outta the microwave, snag a fork from the drawer, stuff a bottle of water from the fridge under my armpit, and retake my seat on the couch. Save for my obnoxious chewing, the room remains quiet as Kat tries not to watch me but fails. I’m halfway through the dish before she finally cuts the mounting tension with a knife.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ll stop projecting my issues on you. You did make piss poor choices in the past. We both agree with that. I’m gonna try to let the past stay where it belongs. But you need to realize I have a lot of hurt stuffed inside that I’ve repressed for a long time. It’s going to want to smash a beer bottle over your head sometimes. That can’t be helped. You get under my skin. I’m trying not to let you. But it’s impossible.”

Around a bite of gooey cheese, I mumble, “You get under mine, too. So we’re even.” Swallowing down the bite, I then add, “By the way, this is the best home cooked meal I’ve had in ages.” The last one I can remember enjoying was also cooked by her. Coincidence? I think not.

A burst of cherry paints Kat’s cheeks, and she looks away. “Thanks. Sorry you missed dessert.”

A pang of regret vibrates in my chest. Disregarding the sensation, I finish off the last three forkfuls and take a swig of water. Setting the plate on the end table, I get comfy on the couch. Hands tucked behind my head. My shirt rides up to my belly button on its own, so I leave it be. If it wouldn’t cause an issue, I’d take it all the way off. However, I know that’d make her uncomfortable. She’s always been kinda shy about bodies. Especially her own. Kat doesn’t see the same temptress I see when I look at her. It’s a cryin’ shame.

“What’d you have?” I eventually ask when I realize she’s not gonna tell me without a nudge.

“What do you think?” Kat fiddles with the A necklace, still fascinated by everything else but me. Shy Tiger.

“Hmmm. Are we talkin’ favorites here? Or favorite favorites?” Yes, there is such a thing with Katrina. At least from what I remember. Who knows. It’s been so long, tastes are bound to change.

“Favorite favorites.”

That’s simple then. She had three on that list.

“Then you guys had cheesecake without fruit, pecan pie with half a can of whipped cream, or…”

Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, brows furrowed, I contemplate the final dessert. I wanna go with something chocolate. Kat loves her chocolate. Years ago, though, it was microwaved s’mores on her list. Simple and cheap. They were a pregnancy craving at one point. Three a.m. s’mores when she couldn’t sleep. Followed by a foot rub that always led to a calf rub and up, up, up, all the way to that sweet spot between her thighs. Slowly, I’d tease her clit. Massage it as if it wasn’t turnin’ her on. When she couldn’t take it any longer, I gave her g-spot some two finger action. It never took much to get her off. A few pumps in her slickness and she was screaming my name.

Fuckin’ A.

Not carin’ if she sees, I adjust the raging boner in my jeans. Probably shouldn’t have trudged up those memories. They do nothin’ but make me hard and feel like shit afterward.

“S’mores,” I add belatedly.

“The second one.” Kat scratches the arm of the chair absentmindedly. “I can’t believe you remembered them all.”

“Are they still the same?”

“Yes,” she whispers so faintly I barely catch it.

“Do you get s’more cravings at 3 a.m. like you did with Rox?”

“No. I don’t get as many cravings this time. Sweets. Yes. But nothing as specific.”

“Did Ghost bring you the pie? I smelled someone bakin’ at the clubhouse today. Didn’t check to see what.”

“Yep. But he only brought one.” Kat sulks, and I grin at her sullen expression. Goddamn cute as sin, is what she is.

“Poor baby had to share,” I tease.

“Dad gave me his slice, and shared Bear’s.”

“Did they get grossly lovey-dovey?”

Kat chuckles quietly to herself. “Uh huh. It was mush factor to the tenth degree. Bear was fork feeding Dad. I even caught Bear nuzzling his nose to Dad’s, and they kissed so many times I almost told them to take it elsewhere. Are they always like that?”

“Not in front of the brothers. Ya know, reps to protect and whatnot. But when we get together, just us boys and them, they’re disgusting. And it’s all Pops. After his heart attack, it got worse. Kade usually eggs them on with lewd comments just to see how long it’ll take Pops to tell him to fuck off.”

I’ll never forget the first time I walked into Pops’ office and found him on his knees, blowin’ his man’s cock. We’d been discussin’ some club stuff, I’d left for maybe three minutes to take a leak, and he was throat deep by the time I got back. Knowin’ I hate bein’ interrupted mid-suck, I left them be and returned later. That was years ago. Since then, I can’t even count on two hands how many times I’ve witnessed worse. Trust me when I say, you don’t wanna know the depraved details.

Katrina sighs. “Our parents. The mushy romantics. Who knew? I don’t remember much from when my parents were together. But I don’t think Dad was ever like that with Mom.”

“Pops wasn’t either. And he’s had his fair share of tail. A slew of hairy holes and slippery pink ones. Not a one who stuck around all that long. He’d get tired of the same ol’ same ol’ and there’d be a different whore crawlin’ outta his bed.”

“Like father, like son?” she asks politely. Not at all tryin’ to get another dig in.

I nod. “Somethin’ like that.”

“What’s it feel like?”

“What’s what feel like?”

Don’t ask. Do not pose the question, Katrina Remington. Don’t you fuckin’ do it.

“Screwing random pussy all the time,” she says.

Dammit. Why does she have to go there? Here I thought we were havin’ a pleasant conversation about our folks. One that doesn’t cross a line, or tear open freshly healed wounds. Now she’s gotta go and ruin our night by askin’ about my sex life. This is not a topic we should discuss. Not now. Not ever.

When I don’t answer right away, Kat adds, “We’re talking as friends, Ryker. It’s okay to tell me the truth.”

It’s a trap. My brain seizes. Abort abort.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I let the words fall freely from my lips without hesitation. “It’s pussy. It’s wet. It gets ya off. Serves a purpose. Not much else to say.” There. Not so bad. The truth without crude specifics.

“How’d you pick the women?”

“Whores, Kat. Whores. Club Whores. This ain’t no match makin’ service.” I’m defensive as hell. Sweat tickles the base of my neck. Mouth goes dry. We shouldn’t be discussing this. I’m keyed up. Ready to fight the invisible elephant sitting on my chest, making it difficult to breathe.

“I don’t like that word,” she utters meekly, not very Kat like. See, I knew this would jeopardize the rare peaceful rapport we had.

“It’s not a nice one. I’ll give ya that. But that’s what they’re called. Are you sure we should be talkin’ about this? It’s gonna make you mad.”

“I’m not mad. I wanna know what it’s like. How you pick. I’m not a child that needs protected. We should have this conversation. It’ll clear the air.” That backbone of hers inserts itself into her voice. It’s about damn time. Her posture changes. Kat sits back, blanket up, eyes focused in my direction. She folds her hands in her lap. Well, not exactly her lap. More like our daughter. Feelin’ her.

“At first, I picked chicks that reminded me of you. When that didn’t work, I picked ones who didn’t. For years, I pretty much swapped back and forth between the two.”

“Fat like me, and skinny like Vanessa?” Her tone is level. Expression unreadable.

That’s not gonna fly.

Knifing up on the couch, I aggressively two finger point at her—my anger anointing the air. “You don’t talk about yourself like that,” I growl. “You’re the most beautiful woman on the planet. You got me? You’re not fat. You ain’t ever been fat. You got a round ass, full tits, and curves for days. Men like me don’t want skin and bones. Doesn’t mean I haven’t banged a few skinny whores in my life. But that’s not what makes my dick hard. There’s a lot of shit you’ll do to forget. Includin’ gettin’ so hammered you don’t realize what hole you’re pushin’ into.”

Kat does that tame the beast hand thingy again. “I wasn’t talkin’ down about myself, Ryker. Calm your tits. I was merely tryin’ to understand the difference between women like me and not. That’s all. But thank you for defending my body’s honor and paying me sweet compliments that are unnecessary when we’re talking as friends. I’m good. You’re good. Do you need a beer?”

I don’t care what she says. Callin’ herself fat is gonna get her the same response every time. I won’t tolerate that kinda talk. It’s bad enough we live in a world where women think a certain size means they’re sexy. Sexy has zero to do about the size of your jeans or the numbers on a scale. Men don’t give two fucks about that. If they do, you’re with the wrong type of man.

Grumbling, I reposition myself on the sofa exactly like before. Holy hell. Did she really tell me to calm my tits? If she’s not a perfect woman for me, I dunno who is. Any other chick to tell me that would be told where to fuck off.

“No. No beer,” I eventually answer after I’ve cooled down and my voice has returned to normal.

She sweeps her hand toward the kitchen. “You sure? You’re still breathin’ awfully heavy.”

“I don’t like you talkin’ badly about yourself.”

“Whether you see it or not, Ryker. I am a lot fatter than your wife,” she reasons.

“I know you’re not the same size. I’m not blind. That doesn’t mean you’re fat, though.” When Kat opens her mouth to spew some argumentative nonsense, I cut her off. “Don’t even think to fight me on that, baby, ‘cause we can go rounds about your body all night long. In my mouth. Ridin’ my dick. Those big tits bouncin’. And the whole time you’ll know for damn certain you ain’t fat. Ain’t ever been fat. Won’t ever be. Vanessa is thinner. Just ‘cause you don’t wear the same pant size as her doesn’t mean you’re fat. Do you not remember a minute ago when I mentioned gettin’ so hammered you don’t realize what hole you’re pushin’ into?” My eyes lock on hers, pausin’ a beat so she can see the truth in that statement. “Nuff said. We’re done havin’ this conversation, or I’m liable to get angry again.”

“Again?” she snickers.

“Angrier. Better?”

“Much.” She winks, smirking.

Time for a subject change. “How about you? How’d it feel, not whorin’ around?”

I thank my lucky stars every single day that she didn’t. Double standard? Yep. It totally is. And I own that shit. Be pissy if you want. It ain’t gonna change my stance. ‘Cause the thought of multiple dicks inside what’s mine makes me wanna commit murder. Not the decent, bullet through the skull kinda murder, either. The string you up by your toes, slice off half your cock, and let blood run down your chest and into your mouth, slow kind of torture.

Starin’ at her bump, she massages the roundness. “It was lonely.”

Go ahead, stab me in the heart. Carve it from my chest with a rusty blade. It couldn’t hurt any less than what Kat’s doin’ to it now. Lonely? Christ. I’ve been lonely, too.

Untucking one of the hands from behind my neck, I pat my thigh. “Come’ere.” She won’t ever be lonely again if I have any say in the matter.

“W-what?” she stammers.

Sitting up, I spread my arms wide. “Let’s cuddle for a little while. It’s been a long week. You need to cuddle.”

“Ryker, we can’t cuddle.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because you’ve been hard almost the entire night.” She peers at my crotch, so I do the same. It’s not that hard. Half a chub. That’s progress.

“So?” I prompt.

“I don’t want you gettin’ any ideas.”

Ha.

“Trust me I already have those ideas whether you cuddle me or not. I’ll even give you a foot massage to sweeten the deal.”

Kat shakes her head, tryin’ to hide a smile behind her hair. “We both know what foot rubs lead to.”

“You think I can’t keep my hands to myself?” I’m offended.

She nods, humored. “Yes. I think you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

Gasping in mock horror, I pound my suffering heart for show. “You wound me.”

Katrina giggles. It’s the loveliest sound. Light and tinkly. “Thank you for the offer. Truly. But I don’t think it’s smart.” She shuffles her butt off the chair and stands, blanket in hand.

“Wh-where are you goin’?”

I gulp. Is this happening? Is she gonna let me cuddle her? Fuck. I hope so.

Kat comes closer, and for a split second, the world comes to a standstill. Then my hope crumbles when she offers me the blanket. “I’m going to bed. Thank you for the talk. Hope we can do it again, sometime.”

Screw the blanket. I grab her hand, wanting her to stay a little while longer.

Don’t leave me. I want to beg like a lost boy. Let me run my fingers through your hair. Kiss you. Tongue your slit. Cuddle. Anything.

Gazing up at my love, I kiss those warm fingers one at a time, and she gasps. I know she feels the spark, too. The electric current that passes between us. It’s always been there. Merely touchin’ her soft hand settles my heart. My trembling insides. My dark soul. Yep. I’m a pathetic bastard.

Kat’s pretty eyes glaze over in lust as I take her other hand and do the same to it. Drawing each kiss out. Desperately wanting to suck her fingers into my mouth and swirl my tongue around them to taste her. Her thighs scissor together, needin’ clitoral friction. I wanna give her that. I do. But what I want more is to respect her wishes. I’m barely toeing the line as is. With one final kiss on the top of Kat’s hand, I release her. It hurts more than anyone can understand. Though, it’s the least I can do. Trust takes time to rebuild, and I’m at the starting line.

Slippin’ her pants down her thighs and takin’ what I want isn’t the right way to rebuild a damn thing. It’ll feel good for the moment until she shuts me out again. Questioning my motives. Actin’ as if I’m using her body to sate my own. When that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Stunned to silence, Kat sways toward me. I cup our daughter to steady her, and so I can get a little daddy lovin’. Needin’ another minute. Just one. I lift her shirt, pepper the taught skin with kisses, and whisper my love yous to my kid, who’s gotta be asleep because she hasn’t moved yet. Then I drop my old lady’s shirt back in place, palms still on her bump. My eyes lock with Katrina’s. “Goodnight, beautiful. I’ll see ya in the mornin’. Don’t forget to set your alarm for seven thirty. If it’s any earlier, I’ll fix that tonight. I’ve got the girls. You need rest. Especially with ya stayin’ up to talk with me.”

Katrina nods in dazed compliance, skims a shaky hand over my bald head, and pulls away.

“Goodnight, and thank you,” she whispers from the mouth of the hall.

“Anytime.”

Once the click of her door sets, I heave a sigh, flop onto my back, unlatch my jeans button, and shove a hand down my boxers, fistin’ my rager. Five painful strokes are all it takes to have me archin’ my back, head smashed into the couch, as the first jet of cum paints the inside of my boxers to the image of Kat’s tit in my mouth.

Not givin’ a single fuck, I jerk myself empty, heavin’ to catch a single breath. Then I wipe the sticky mess on my thigh to clean up later. I’m tired. Perhaps tonight I’ll get a little shuteye.

Later.

Kat

The slap slap of my bare feet on the hardwood echoes down the hallway to the sound of Scarlett cheering loudly in the kitchen. Who needs an alarm when you have your child’s voice to rouse you? Approaching slowly as to not disturb whatever it is they’re boisterously up to, I falter a step at the sight spread before me. On the stool, her back to me, Scarlett’s going wild—fist pumping the air, dancing in her seat. While Roxie lays on Ryker’s bare back as he does pushups. And they’re not just any pushups. We’re talking on the knuckles, back to his hands, one armed, the next arm, one leg up, then down. If there weren’t drops of sweat pooling on the floor beneath his face, I wouldn’t think he’s winded at all. Pausing midway down, in a plank pose, his face tilts up, and he notices me. A giant, albeit slightly naughty, smile curves at the corners of his lips. His blue orbs dance with mischief. I’m half tempted to escape back to my bedroom, where he can’t bewitch the butterflies in my middle that’re going berserk at his presence. They started last night even before he kissed … made love to my fingers. Who knew a few simple touches would start a blazing fire between my thighs? When I’d gotten back to my room, I didn’t make it two steps before I was fingering myself to a knee-buckling climax. If it weren’t for the wall to help support me as I banged my quivering sex to oblivion, there would be bruising on my knees this morning. He’s a sex God incarnate. Sweaty and shirtless with our daughter on his back? Sweet baby Jesus. I might as well surrender my ovaries right now. They’re begging to make six hundred more babies with this panty dropper … soaker … incinerator.

Ryker mutters something to Rox, whose chin’s resting on his shoulder. She glances up, smiling broadly. “Mom!”

Padding into the kitchen, my presence no longer a secret, I stand next to Scarlett. “Hey, Mom! Ryker has done fifteen pushups with Roxie on his back. Isn’t that cool?!” Her exuberance is a few decibels short of rupturing eardrums.

Patting my daughter’s shoulder, I kiss her cheek. “Ya don’t have to yell. I’m right next to you.”

Scarlett covers her mouth with her hand. “Ooops. Sorry. I’m just so excited! He’s super strong.”

Ryker resumes his pushups at a slower pace, gaze fixed on Scarlett and me. I wonder if he can tell I masturbated to him last night. Gee. I hope not. That’s embarrassing.

Heat suffuses my cheeks at the thought.

“That he is,” I comment, watching Ryker hold his opposing leg and arm up at the same time without falter. The defined muscles in his shoulders ripple. Oh my fairy unicorn princesses, this is not fair. There’s eye candy everywhere in the world. Like a single piece of deliciousness you savor and move on. Then you have my ex who’s a candy buffet the size of Walmart. The supercenter ones. Not the lame ass, basic bitch stores without grocery.

“Mom should get a turn, too,” Scarlett announces, brushing a blonde strand of hair off her face.

“No!” I object vehemently; in the same breath, Ryker says, “Sure.”

Shaking my head, I take a step back, poised to flee to the bedroom. “Not happening. No way.”

Ryker lowers himself to the floor, and Rox climbs off, but not before she pecks his cheek in thanks. Not sure how I feel about that one. I’ll digest it later.

Now upright, Roxie strides my way and wraps me in a tight hug. Scarlett joins in from the side. A second later, they’re shuffling me forward, toward their Dad. I try to drag my feet, knowing these little girls are up to no good. Except it’s impossible when you’ve got two children your size throwing their weight around.

Ryker’s hand seizes my ankle once I get close enough. “Come on, Kat. Join in the fun.”

“Yeah, Mom. Don’t ruin the fun,” Scarlett begs.

“You can do it, Mom,” Rox steps away, taking her sister with her. From the floor, Ryker pleads with terrible puppy dog eyes for me to play along.

Defeated, I harrumph, and tap tap tap my foot on the floor in agitation. “Just this once. I don’t wanna break your Da—Ryker’s back.” Oh no! Please say they didn’t pick up on the tongue slip.

Ryker saves the day when he thumb points to his taut back that’s littered with ink. “Sit down, facing my ass, legs straight out over mine. If you need stability, hold my shoulders or sides.”

Following his instructions to the T, I get in position. Palms curve over his damp shoulders. His skin’s incredibly warm, and his scent heady. All man, Old Spice deodorant, and pheromones. Any time now my panties will combust.

“You ready?” Ryker prompts.

“Yep. Don’t break anything.” I’d feel awful if he did.

“You don’t weigh that much, Kat. We talked about this last night. If you feel like you’re gonna fall, tell me, and I’ll stop. Girls, get to countin’.”

One-by-one, Ryker pistons his ridiculous hard body up and down in quick succession. Slow down, fast up. Roxie and Scarlett chant each pushup. By the time we crest fifteen, I start to freak, worried I’ll injure him if he goes any longer.

At twenty, when he becomes sluggish, I almost call it off.

“Four more,” he grits, the slick muscles beneath me vibrating under strain.

I wait it out, nervous he’ll not be able to move afterward.

Ages pass and the final pushup ends. Ryker lowers himself carefully to the hardwood and expels a rushed breath, body deflating, arms fanning out above his head. I scurry off, sitting on the floor beside him so he can breathe easier.

Ryker turns his flushed face in my direction, cheek resting on the floor. “You should sit on me more often,” he grins tiredly, drawing lungfuls of air through his nose. The muscles on his shoulders twitch every now and again, bald head glistening.

I nudge his ribs with my foot. “Be good. There are children present.”

Ryker scowls, lips pursing. “I am. I wasn’t talkin’ dirty. It’s good for me to have you sit on my back. There’s only so much training you can do with weights. You have to adjust and be more conscious of each movement when you’ve got somethin’ precious sittin’ on you.”

Oh. My mistake.

Opening my mouth to sincerely apologize, I falter when Ryker sits up, exposing the world to his glorious physique. Men like this aren’t real. They’re not. I close my eyes in disbelief and open them again. Ryker orders the girls to get their school stuff around. It barely registers because I’m too busy shamelessly objectifying perhaps the sexiest man God’s ever crafted. And God has created some mighty fine specimens. The Rock; need I say more? However, Ryker’s hotter. He’s gotten thicker—more chiseled since I saw him at Thanksgiving. When we had sex last, I didn’t take the time to appreciate his body in all its glory. I’m starting to sound like a broken record, aren’t I? Going on and on about his hotness. Well, I’m sorry. It can’t be helped. I’m a recovering Brent aka Ryker addict, who was just reintroduced to my drug of choice. Like most drugs, it sounds good. Looks good. You want another hit. But you know it ain’t good for you to relapse because you’ll be stuck going through detox all over again. And detox sucks.

Going about their business, the girls disappear, and Ryker climbs off the floor with the grace of a gazelle. He offers me a hand to help me up. I’m no fool, so I accept. With his assistance, I’m slightly less of a grunting pregnant mess getting off the floor. This is why chairs are lovely. They’re easy to get up from. The floor at this size, not so much.

Once I’m safely on two legs, I dust my sweatpants off out of habit. They’re not dirty. “Thanks.”

Ryker lifts his chin in acknowledgment, wipes his face off with a towel on the countertop, and guzzles a full bottle of water. Each pull of the cool liquid forces his throat muscles to constrict. There’s never been a sexier neck. Holy Moses. If I’m gettin’ off to throats, I think it’s about time I get laid. Between last night and today, I’m having a hard time keeping my wits about me. It’s difficult to remember why you’re keeping a distance when the hungry cooter in your pants wants to play hide the sausage. Whoever said only men think with their dicks was dead wrong. Pussies are demanding horndogs, too.

“What other exercises did you do today?” I ask lamely, trying to make casual conversation and failing.

“I ran two miles before I woke the girls up.” Ryker stretches his arms high, to the side, and pulls them across his chest. They’ve gotta be tight after that work out.

Desperate to find things to discuss, I scan the kitchen. It’s devoid of any dishes. “What’d the girls eat?”

“They wanted cereal. So I cut them up a few strawberries and bananas to go in some Wheaties. Rox also wanted a yogurt. I figured that was okay.” He shrugs one shoulder.

I nod. That’s a fairly healthy breakfast.

“We’ve gotta roll out in ten, munchkins!” he hollers.

“Okay!” Scarlett returns.

Ryker tosses his empty bottle in the trash, and, as quick as a snake strike, snatches my hand. Before I get a chance to object or dig my heels in, he drags me behind him to the walk-in pantry. “What are you trying to show me?” I squeak.

Ryker flips on the light, pulls me all the way inside, and slams the door shut. Then he attacks. Cupping my jaw in his big mitts, he takes my mouth in a punishing kiss, stealing the air from my lungs.

Oh, god.

I melt.

Our bodies collide in a tangle of limbs and tongues, slamming against the door. Clawing at his shoulders, nails finding purchase, I hook my leg around his and throw caution to the wind. I need this. I deserve it. The world fades into oblivion as I lose myself in him. Moans are swallowed. My belly dips. Waves of pleasure pulse between the apex of my thighs. Ryker’s body envelopes mine in blissful heat. My bump’s cradled in his crotch, cock, hard and delicious, pressing in, just enough for me to feel the steely length, but not so much it hurts. Passionately, our teeth, lips, and tongues battle for supremacy until I can barely draw breath.

There’s a knock on the door that vibrates through my spine. “Mom. Ryker?” It’s Scarlett.

Shit!

Ripping his lips from mine with a pained groan, Ryker replies in a moderately smooth tone, “We’re discussing something, beautiful. We’ll be out soon.”

Wait a second … there’s blood dripping down Ryker’s chin, and there are speckles on his chest. Blinking slowly, my brain still floating in a rose-colored fog, the world trickles back into focus like a saline drip, releveling my endorphins. That’s when I feel it. The fiery throbbing in my bottom lip. A gush of warmth runs down my chin, landing in fat droplets on my shirt.

A flash of concern washes over Ryker’s features. “Fuck! I broke open your lip. I’m so sorry. I shoulda known better. Hold your face, babe. I’ll get you somethin’.” Frantically, he searches the pantry for something to staunch the heavy bleeding. I cup my hand over it, coating my palm in crimson. It does no good.

Why do facial wounds have to bleed like a stuck pig? It’s gross.

Tearing open a new roll of paper towels, he rips off a long bit, balls it up, and presses it to the gusher. “Here.”

Afraid the bleeding will worsen if I move my mouth to tell him it’s not a big deal, I take over, holding the wad in place instead. Pacing the small space, Ryker grumbles a string of obscenities and yanks his cell from his track pants pocket. Wait. When did he put that there?

Tapping a few buttons, he smashes it to his ear. “Kade, get your lazy ass outta bed. Katrina needs you,” Ryker barks in the receiver.

There’s a muffled reply.

“I know what time it is. Leave the whore to see herself out. I broke open Kat’s lip when I kissed her.”

Cue loads of yelling. Ryker holds the phone away from his ear to prevent damage. Too bad I can’t make out Kade’s words.

“Calm down. I didn’t do it on purpose… I know I shouldn’t have kissed her… Have you seen her? You woulda kissed her, too, if she almost called you Daddy…”

So that’s why he kissed me? That’s sorta sweet. Guess it’s a good thing I kind of love that we mauled each other’s mouths. The bloody lip’s a measly casualty in the heat of the moment. The claw marks on his shoulders aren’t much better. I’m sure they’ll bruise tomorrow. See, that’s the telltale sign of a damn good kiss. One that knocked my world off its axis. There’s no guilt to mull over. I needed it, and he’s the best kisser I know. It’s a win-win in my books. Although, a change of comfy cottons is definitely in order.

“Yes, I put something to her lip, Numb Nuts… Fuck no. We’re not doin’ that. We’ll call this even… For what? Is that a joke? You tryin’ to tell me you weren’t the one sendin’ my old lady dick emojis…”

More yelling ensues.

Rolling his eyes at his brother’s theatrics, Ryker yanks the phone away from his ear again. “Kade’s a tad dramatic.”

He winks, and I force myself not to smile. They’re quite the brotherly duo. There’s no doubt emotions ride high in this family. Ryker keeps fidgeting every three seconds, tapping his fingers on his thigh, abs, arm. His leg bounces nonstop, and he keeps peeking at me with sorrowful eyes every half second to see if I’ve collapsed from blood loss. That’s not going to happen. If he doesn’t take a chill pill soon, I’ll have to step in. There’s no need to get bent, when all I’ve got is a simple bloody lip. No harm. No foul. And it doesn’t hurt much. I’ve been through worse.

“You done?” Ryker clips when Kade’s through berating him. “Good. Listen, I gotta take my kids to school. Rosie’s here to keep an eye on Kat. But I gotta bounce, or they’ll be late… Yes. We’re even… No. You’re not givin’ me a fuckin’ black eye for wakin’ you up… I’ll give you a black eye in return… Jesus Christ, Kade. Shut up, get on the bike, and ride your lazy ass here. Katrina needs you.” Ryker ends the call, not waiting for a reply.

Pocketing his phone, he turns to me, hands trembling. “I’m so sorry, babe.”

I nod, knowing that he is. It was an accident. The girls have them all the time. This is no different.

“Don’t be mad. Please.”

I shake my head, so he knows I’m not.

“Good.”

Tension drains from Ryker’s frame, and he gifts me a tiny yet wary smile. Hugging my shoulders with his massive arms, he drops a smooch to my hairline, pausing to nestle his nose there. “Love you. But I gotta jet. Our girls are gonna be late. Sorry, you can’t ride with us. But Kade’ll be here soon to fix my fuck up.”

With that, he gently shuffles me away from the door and opens it. Both kids are seated on the stools, chatting amicably until they see us exit the pantry.

“Mom! What’s wrong?” Roxie blasts off her seat to come to my aid. It warms my already full heart.

Knowing I can’t speak, Ryker answers for me. “I was showin’ Mom some stuff in the pantry, and she bent down to look. Hit her mouth on the shelf and busted her lip open again. That’s what was takin’ so long. We were tryin’ to stop the bleeding.” He points to his pecs and the mess smeared there. If the girls were a bit older, they’d realize Ryker probably shouldn’t have blood on his chin as well. Luckily, they buy the story hook, line, and sinker.

Roxie lays her head on my shoulder, fingers cuffing around my upper arm. “We can’t leave her like this.”

“Don’t worry. Kade’s on his way,” Ryker explains to pacify the children. The last thing I need is them fawning over me all day long, worried about my mouth. When all I need is for them to learn lots at school, some fresh glue for my lip, and a hot bath.

Briefly nuzzling the side of my head to Roxie’s, I then nudge her toward Ryker, who lifts his chin, silently checking to see if I’m good. Nodding once, I give him the A-Okay. He hesitates, studying my face. A frown mars his own as he turns to get our kids out the door.

Backpacks are slung, hugs exchanged, and the kids skip off to school without me in tow. It saddens me to see them go without me present, but something in my gut says this is good for them. That they’ll be alright. Ryker’s got this. He’s proven to be a competent father over the course of the last few days he’s been around. Which is more than I could’ve asked for since we were uprooted from Indiana. To be honest, everything, since we've arrived, has been pretty spectacular. Dinner with three of my favorite men. A big bathtub to soak in. A comfy bed. Entertaining books to occupy my mind. A nice bedroom for the girls. This move has turned out to be better than I expected. At least in the few days we’ve been here, it has. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

Hiking my big booty up on a stool, I patiently wait for Kade to come fix my face. Perhaps I can convince him to take me into town for breakfast this morning. I’m craving a billion rashers of crunchy bacon. Not the limp, chewy kind. Only weirdos eat that. Wait. Are you one of those weirdos? Whoops. Sorry. I didn’t mean it. High five if you like bacon at all—even the floppy dick kind. #BaconIsLife. Shhh … don’t tell my kids I’m cool enough to use hashtags. It’ll damage my uncool mom rep.

Kat

For nine days, I’ve slept in a wonderful bed. For nine days, my life’s been more gratifying than it has been in years. For nine days, a routine has been set. Each night, Ryker rides his Harley to the cabin to find me sitting in the living room. Where we spend personal time catching up. Me on the chair, wearing his comfy clothes. Him on the couch, lounging. Since the pantry incident, he hasn’t kissed me. Part of me wishes he would. While the logical section is grateful for the distance. I can tell he’s been slowly trying to build my trust in him and our friendship. It’s risen from the bottom of the barrel. Not much, but enough that I don’t question every motive. My frustration, heartache, and anger that’s woven its way through our sketchy past has settled. Not one hundred percent. Just enough that it doesn’t hurt so much. Actions definitely speak louder than words, and he’s proven that. Our chats are sometimes deep, other times silly, and always rewarding in some way. At least for me. I can’t speak for him. They soothe the broken fragments of my soul, polishing them so the edges don’t feel so jagged. By two a.m., I’m ready for bed. We don’t touch or hug when parting ways. A simple goodnight appeases my mind, while my heart sings a rather melancholic tune to leave him so soon. As much as it shouldn’t, the heart wants what the heart wants, and she’s been a Brent aka Ryker devotee since the beginning of time.

On weekday mornings, our routine stays relatively the same. I wake up late. The girls are fed and ready for school by the time I wander into the kitchen. Twice now I’ve been suckered into pushup duty. Along with Rox and Scarlett. Thankfully, I haven’t missed another ride along since the lip accident that took Kade a whole three minutes to fix. That is, after he scolded me for a good ten minutes on kissing his brother and how much of a horrible idea it was. Can’t say I totally disagree. It’s complicated.

Once the girls are taken to school, Ryker drives me home, sees me inside, then leaves. To be frank, that’s the hardest part of the day. It’s always awkward. He never knows what to say, and we’re both afraid to make eye contact. It’s your high school crush all over again, times a hundred.

During the day hours, if I’m not grocery shopping, Rosie and I platonically Netflix and chill. Isn’t that the hipster term? We do this chillin’ while she spreads her many knives on the floor and polishes them like they’re fine silver. If it’s not TV, it’s book nerd time. I’ve devoured eight novels since we arrived in Texas. Not too shabby if I do say so myself.

In the afternoons, the bus drops the girls off at the driveway. My men come by nightly for dinner. Dad always provides the dessert. This time supplying more than necessary because his pregnant daughter’s a sweets whore. I think the pecan pie episode was an educational experience for him. Rosie, and her badass self, helps me cook. While Kade stares pathetic googly eyes at her. We eat at the table. The men wash the dishes afterward. And we do our typical carrying on until it’s time for the girls to say goodnight. Thus restarting the routine.

I suppose the biggest change has been the weekend. Not to get into major details. No need to bore ya to death. But they’ve been amazing. On Saturday, I slept in, only when I woke up the house was devoid of Roxie. Who decided to go on a morning run through the woods with Ryker before breakfast. Rosie was up watching The Disney Channel with Scarlett when I came into the living room. It took a large glass of water, lots of back pats, Scarlett cuddles, and chocolate to calm my ass down about Rox running through the forest, where there’s killer snakes and possible bad guys. I’m under no illusion that we’re safe here. Sure, it’s been quiet. However, the illusion of silence could be the calm before the storm. I’ve watched enough shows and read enough books to deduct that this ain’t over until Dad and Bear say it’s over. Which they haven’t.

Sometime later, when the sweaty duo decided to grace us with their presence, I had eggs, bacon, buttered toast, and sausage ready to eat. Ryker surprised us all by staying until noon and returning around midnight. Sunday was much the same.

Now … here I am, bouncing my foot anxiously on the floor. Today we’re breaking the routine, and I’m nervous as all get out. The morning went off without a hitch. This afternoon, in thirty-five minutes to be exact, I have my first obstetrician appointment in Red Fort with a new doctor. Ryker set up the appointment and is driving me. Rosie’s staying behind just in case we don’t return before the bus gets home. Did I mention I’m a nervous wreck? What if I hate this woman doctor? I’ve used the same OB/GYN since I was sixteen. Dr. Davies is the best. I’m not a fan of change. This is a huge one. Staying in the cabin feels almost like vacation. Reality hasn’t quite sunk in yet. In thirty-four minutes, it’s going to. I hate this. Hate it so damn much I could punch something—namely Ryker. And I’ve done so well not wanting to do that the past week.

A Harley rumble vibrates the window panes. It cuts off outside, and a minute later the back door opens. This is it. Time to leave.

“Kat, babe, you ready?” Ryker calls, sauntering into the open living space, wearing his cut, jeans, a black long sleeve shirt, and a radiant, dimple kissed smile that reaches his eyes. Someone’s excited about the appointment. That makes one of us.

Gracelessly using the arms of the chair to propel me to my feet, I nod, worried that if I speak, he’ll spot the lie. Too late, Ryker frowns. Meeting me midway between the mudroom and kitchen, he cups my cheeks in those big paws. The intimate touch sparks beneath his fingertips, sprouting gooseflesh down my arms. I shiver.

“You afraid of goin’ to this new baby doc?”

Refusing to meet his gaze, I nod timidly.

“Aww, Tiger. There’s no need for all that.”

Those warm hands fall away and are replaced with a hulking body engulfing mine in a hug. Sighing, I go with the flow, arms curling around his leathery middle. Ryker’s familiar scent soothes my fraying nerves a smidgen as I nuzzle my nose to his chest, finding a semblance of peace. I was calm this morning. Not sure when it changed. Perhaps shortly after he left, the meltdown began. My brain has been running amuck for hours. Rosie quit trying to appease me before lunch. All the leg bouncing was driving her batty. Not that I can blame the woman.

Lips settle on top of my head, hot breath steaming my scalp. More tingles follow. Something pink and mushy swirls in my gut. It’s nothing.

When I don’t reply, Ryker does. “I’d hold ya longer. But we gotta roll.”

Clutching the back of his cut, I rapidly shake my head. Nope. We can skip it. No need to burst this relaxing vacation bubble with real life crap.

A chuckling kiss presses to my hair, that I took time to wash, dry, and style today. For what, I dunno. “No more cold feet, Tiger. Dr. Shipley’s no Dr. Davies, but that doesn’t mean she’s not gonna take good care of you. I wouldn’t take you to her if I thought otherwise.”

Knowing I shouldn’t ask this, I do anyway. Call me a glutton for punishment. “Is she Vanessa’s OB, too?” I mumble to his pecs.

Ryker’s fingertips slip beneath my long trusses to stroke the base of my neck. It’s comforting, and there’s only one reason why he’d pull out these big guns. Daddy didn’t raise no fool. I calmly wait for the truth bomb to detonate.

“Yes.”

He hugs me a little tighter, as if that’ll ease the jarring news. Of course, he’d take me to the same motherfluffin’ doctor as his wife. I should’ve asked sooner so I could prepare, or find somebody else. I’m due in two months. There’s not a whole lot of time to shop around. And since I was forced to quit my job, I no longer have health insurance. Which I’m sure Vanessa does since she’s married to Ryker. As shitty as that may be, that’s the brutal truth I have to live with, day in and day out.

Breaking out of his hold to save face, I tilt my head way back to make eye contact. Ryker reluctantly let's go. I can’t get too far because he keeps one hand planted on my belly to stay connected. I allow the small touch since I’m not in the mood to fight.

“How am I paying for this?”

“I’m paying for it.”

This is ridiculous.

“No. You’re not. Having a baby is expensive. Very expensive. If you hadn’t forced me to quit my job, I could afford it. My copayments were only $25 a visit, and the birth would’ve maxed my deductible for the entire year. A $5000 birth wouldn’t have been horrible. This is going to be much more.”

“No. It won’t.” Fingertips dance across the top of my belly. It’s distracting. Irritated by him, his voice, and this entire scenario, I slap his hand away. He’s not going to snuff out my fire. I’m upset, and he doesn’t get to belittle that.

“Care to elaborate?” I snip.

Those beefy arms do their typical Ryker chest cross. If I were a weaker female, his penetrating regard, and air of dominance would stifle my position. Guess it’s a good thing I can grab a bull by the horns without flinching. Let’s see what ya got, Big Boy. “Ghost already spoke to Dr. Shipley. It’s been handled. Money is not an issue. She’s my daughter, too, and I take care of what’s mine,” he says.

My animated hands get to talking alongside my mouth. “Riiight. I’m gonna skip over the part where I scold you about how well you take care of what’s supposedly yours.”

“That sounds like a smart choice.” He’s not amused. Good. Well, neither am I.

“Thought so. As for the money. I will find out what it cost, Ryker, and I will pay my part. I don’t wanna owe anyone anything when I leave this place.”

Shaking his head like I’m the biggest pain in his ass, which I probably am, he then huffs, nods once, spins on his heel, and stalks out the back door, leaving me in his dust. It doesn’t take long to grab my purse from the table and meet him in the Suburban.

On the ride to Red Fort, a local radio station plays classic hard rock. We don’t utter a single word as I stare out of the passenger side window, watching the scenery drift from green country to small-town America. Before I know it, we’re parking out front of an old, mint green two-story Victorian. There’s a fancy white sign in the yard that reads Dr. Shipley OB/GYN.

Wordlessly, we exit the vehicle, cross the sidewalk, amble up the bush lined path and the four steps to the grandiose double door entrance. There’s a plaque on the wall beside the silver house numbers that declares this property a historical home. Hmm. Am I the only one sort of wigged out by this? Who runs a doctor’s office that specializes in vaginas out of a Victorian manor? Seems odd. Dr. Davies is located in a small office building that he shares with three other lady part doctors. This is a horse of a different color.

Pausing on the porch, I soak in the exquisite wrap-around adorned with white rockers. There’s a pretty pregnant woman occupying the far one. We exchange friendly nods and smiles as Ryker enters the building without me. Asshole.

By the time I join him, he’s already seated in the waiting ro—parlor on a leather wingback, period style chair. Not at all what I’d imagine a doctor’s office should resemble. Where’s the sterile smell in the air? The six-month-old magazines on bland end tables? Aren’t pamphlets on motherhood mandatory in a place like this? The receptionist desk is just that—a true to form desk. Vintage, much like the rest of the period décor. There’s no magazines anywhere. No pamphlets. There’s quiet speakeasy jazz filtering out of some discrete speaker. The walls are a mauvy pink. The floor, original hardwood. There’s a pink, green, and cream colored floral rug in the center.

“Do I need to check in? Fill out any forms?” I whisper, taking the seat beside him.

“Already checked you in,” Ryker replies.

“No forms?”

“When I said you were taken care of, what do you think that entailed? Your medical records were faxed yesterday. She has all she needs to know. Nothing more. Nothing less. We like to keep it that way ‘round here.”

Can I get a … what the fuck? Do I even want to know how they were able to release my medical records without my signature? Probably not. The rest, I’m going to pretend he didn’t say or I’ll hyperventilate.

“Is this legal?”

I dunno what possesses me to blurt it, but this is small town Texas. And we are sitting in a house. Not a doctor’s office. The longer we stay here, the more this screams backwoods physician. The ones you hear horror stories about. Either that, or I’m overly paranoid and need to calm the hell down. I’m praying it’s the latter because I want to trust that this lady isn’t a quack. The least Sir I’m-Ignoring-You-Like-You-Don’t-Exist could do was prepare me for the shock of this place. It’s not every day you visit a medical practice this … um … unique.

Jerk Face puts me on ignore.

The click click click of heels on the floor, along with the sound of two hushed voices carry as the owners of those voices stroll through the house, deep in conversation. They stop by the door. The heavily pregnant woman with bouncing curls hugs the slight woman in heels, who wears a sincere smile. They exchange pleasantries like they’re best friends, and the black-haired, shoe lady sees out the departing guest.

Once the door comes to a gentle close, she turns toward us with an equally genuine smile. “Ryker,” the woman I presume is Dr. Shipley says, coming at him for a hug with open arms. Ryker unexpectedly unfolds from the chair to greet her. They hug long enough that it makes me uncomfortable. Then Dr. Shipley turns her attention to me, offering a well-manicured hand to shake. Apparently, no hugs are in order for the other woman. Ya know, us adulteresses don’t deserve love. We’re a shameful bunch. Nope. This isn’t weird at all…

“You must be Katrina. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Dr. Shipley, or Megan, if you prefer,” she enunciates with southern belle charm.

Climbing out of the comfy chair to come face to face with the pretty, and quite young, doctor, I put on a smile and join her in the formal exchange of niceties. “The pleasure’s all mine,” I lie.

Having appeased Dr. Shipley, she hooks her arm through Ryker’s and leads the way down the hall. I follow like a good little dog, watching the chummy pair chat as if I’m invisible. Who wants to bet fifty bucks that he’s slept with her before? Hell. Let’s make it two hundred. If her perky tit rubs his arm any harder, she’ll burn a hole through his shirt. Why would anyone think this is professional? I should’ve ran far, far away the minute I set foot in this place. But, no, I wanted to give it the benefit of the doubt. My gut was spot on, once again. She rarely steers me wrong.

Trailing them inside the doorway at the end of the hall, we enter a mint green exam room. At least this space resembles an OB/GYN office. There’s a table with stirrups, a portable sonogram machine, two visitor chairs, a sink, and cupboard.

Detaching from Ryker, the doctor washes her hands and slides on a lab coat that has her name stitched on the chest. She gestures toward the exam table and grabs a folder that she begins to flip through. I perch myself on the end, feet dangling.

“This is your third baby?” she asks, reading my file.

“Yes. Third and final.”

“Are you wanting a hospital birth?”

Does anyone really care where you have a baby as long as it’s healthy? I never have.

I shrug. “As long as she comes out safely, it matters little to me where she’s born. Why?”

Making eye contact, Dr. Shipley plucks a strand of black wavy hair off her forehead and tucks it behind her ear. “My practice offers a birthing center right here. Many of the families in town choose to forgo the hospital for a more relaxed birth under my medical supervision. We offer a variety of birthing options to suit patients’ needs. That’s why I was inquiring. It’s perfectly fine with me if you opt to use the hospital. But I wanted to present this as another viable option. I know we’ve just met, and building trust with any doctor is essential. So I want to assure you that my staff and I are happy to talk over whatever it is you need to make this transition into motherhood as smooth as possible.”

Now, this is how I expect a doctor to act. It’s as if her earlier snub no longer exists and I’m her sole focus. I love that she hasn’t addressed Ryker on this matter. Although, I would like to ask him if Vanessa is planning on birthing here. I’ve heard of centers like this before. They just don’t have one where I’m from, or I would’ve probably opted to have Rox and Scarlett there. Hospitals are great. But I love the idea of not feeling like I’m just a number to fill a quota. It’s too systematic and impersonal. You get less than twenty-four hours to recharge after birth before you’re shoved out the door so they can refill your bed. I can’t commit to anything yet, but I do fancy the idea of doing it my way with a doctor present to guide the process.

When I don’t respond in a timely manner, Dr. Shipley approaches the table with a measuring tape. “Don’t worry about it right now, Katrina. I know it’s a lot to mull over. So why don’t I examine you and we can talk about options afterward. How’s that sound?”

Nodding my agreement, I lie back and lift my shirt. She measures my belly to see if I’m on target, which I am. We discuss normal pregnancy woes, and she asks various questions. It’s a typical prenatal visit minus the vaginal exam that’ll take place at my next appointment in two weeks. You know you’re in your final stretch when the appointments get closer and closer together. Not much longer and I’ll be a mother for the third time. How exciting.

Examination complete, Dr. Shipley takes a seat on the rolling stool and folds her hands in her lap. “Do you two have any questions? Thoughts? Concerns?”

Her gaze sweeps from Ryker to me, then resettles firmly on Ryker. The doc’s eyelashes flutter, and she shifts in her chair, squeezing her slender thighs together. It’s no shocker to see women drool in his presence. This isn’t the first time I’ve encountered it, and it won’t be the last. I can vividly remember what it’s like being on the arm of an attractive man when you don’t measure up. Being the average, curvy librarian with lots of junk in the trunk, women glare at you, dying to figure out how you, of all people, snared a hunk. They’d go as far as to brazenly flirt with me present. He never understood it. Most of the time didn’t realize. The man I knew as Brent truly only had eyes for me. That’s what made the constant scrutiny worth it. Though, he was younger then. I’d imagine, given his man-whore status, he’d be used to the come-ons at this point. The bold tattoos certainly add to his appeal. As you know, even I’m not immune to his thrall.

“Ryker?” Doc’s breathy words flutter like tiny butterflies.

Arching a brow, he rakes her attractive form from hair, to tits, to toes, and back again before settling on her face. It’s painful to watch, and way too personal. I should turn away, but can’t seem to make myself.

“Yeah, Doc?” Ryker replies, and she squirms, licking her rose-tinted lips.

“D-d-do you have any questions?” she asks half way to orgasm.

Christ almighty. I wonder if she acts this way when he comes with Vanessa. Bet she’s picturing all the times they’ve fucked and hoping that I’d leave so they could have a steamy repeat right here on this table. Too bad I ain’t leaving so she can fulfill her dirty fantasy. If he wants to dip his stick, he can do it on his own time. Not mine. This is getting out of hand.

Opening my mouth to tell them to kiss my ass, I snap it closed when Ryker’s eyes cut to me, and he smiles one of those rare belly dipping, make me wanna come smiles that are made just for me. It takes my breath away. “My love, you got anythin’ you wanna ask your doc? I think we should do the birthing suite here. I’ve seen ‘em before when I toured the place. They’ve got one with a big enough bed that I can hold you when you deliver our daughter. We didn’t get to do that with Roxie and Scarlett. It’d be nice to this time ‘round.”

Wait. Back the truck up. Hold me when I deliver our kid? My love? Wasn’t this douche checking my doctor out a minute ago? Now he wants to act all sweet and caring. Fuck that.

The doc’s small gasp distracts me from unloading on my ex. “The other two kids Katrina has are also yours?”

Ryker’s smile turns downright diabolical as he leans back in his chair and crosses those arms. “Fuck yeah they are,” he boasts with pride.

“I th-thought you and Vanessa were having a baby, and you stepped out on her.” Confusion steeps Doc’s words.

“Not that it’s any of your business. But I didn’t step out on Vanessa. I stepped out on Kat.” He lifts his chin proudly in my direction, and my goddamn traitorous heart flutters. “That woman you’ve been disrespecting is mine. Do you get what that means, Doc?”

Dr. Shipley’s stunned to silence, hands shaking. That’d make two of us. Holy shit.

He keeps on. “No? Let me spell it out for ya. Vanessa ain’t mine. I’m doin’ right by her because she’s carryin’ my kid after a one-night-stand. We got married ‘cause I thought it was the right thing to do at the time. That’ll be handled soon enough. But lovin’ my old lady ain’t gonna end. So I expect you to apologize to her right the fuck now for treatin’ her like trash and eye fucking me in her presence. I’ve allowed it in front of Vanessa. ‘Cause I don’t give a fuck if you eye the goods. But Kat does. And what makes her upset, makes me wanna commit murder. You don’t wanna be on my bad side, Megan. We might’ve gone to school together back in the day. You’re an attractive woman, but you damn well know my dick ain’t goin’ anywhere near your snatch.” For emphasis, Ryker grabs a handful of his junk. “This. Is. Katrina’s. Ya got me?”

Mouth agape, eyes buggy, Dr. Shipley nods. I’m not fairing much better.

“Good. Now play nice and apologize to my woman,” Ryker demands.

Turning robotically on her stool, Dr. Shipley faces me. There are unshed tears in her eyes. Damn. Ryker sure knows how to give a lashing. “I’m so so sorry.” Sincerity clings to her frazzled words, and I instantly forgive her for all her indiscretions. It’s not entirely her fault that she fell victim to Ryker’s hotness. It happens to the best of us. Plus, I feel horrible for her now. That scolding had to hurt. I know my heart’s walloping in my chest, and I wasn’t the one he was directing his venom at.

“You can do better than that,” Ryker admonishes.

Dr. Shipley trembles violently at his words as a lone tear drops out of the corner of her eye.

“It’s fine, Ryker.” I attempt to smooth over the situation. There’s no need for all this. She gets it.

“No. It’s really not. She knows her place. What town she lives in. Who runs it. And that you don’t ever disrespect a Sacred Sinner’s old lady. Get on your knees, Megan, and apologize properly.”

Dr. Shipley instantly follows his orders and drops to the floor. Unbelievable! “It’ll never happen again, Katrina. That was very unprofessional. Please forgive me.”

“It’s fine. You’re forgiven. Please get off the floor.” I wave her up, but she doesn’t budge. She glances at Ryker for permission. This is… I have no words.

Shaking his head, he stands from the chair. Stepping in front of her, Ryker kicks the step closed on the exam table and settles between my thighs. Big paws rub my belly as he meets my gaze. Part of me itches to slap him across the face for inserting himself here without permission, and for humiliating that poor woman. His ass is in her face right now, and she still hasn’t moved. I’ll be damned if anyone ever treats me that way and gets away with it. Where’s her sense of self-preservation? Her backbone? If I could, I’d offer her part of mine.

“I know that you’re not used to this, babe. But this is a Sacred Sinner’s town. Respect ain’t up for negotiation. You’re mine, and I take that seriously,” Ryker explains.

Rolling my eyes, I cock my head to the side and look him up and down. I dunno who he thinks he is, but you can catch a lot more bees with honey than vinegar. Respect shouldn’t be forced. It’s earned. And I sure as hell don’t approve of forcing a woman to get on her knees to prove a point. Why? To demean her? Some chicks probably drop their panties at the thought of some man going alpha asshole for them. Not me. Do I like that he stood up to her? Yeah. She was acting inappropriately. What I don’t care for is the knocking her not only down a peg, but an entire row. If someone did this to my kid, I’d cut off their balls.

“You take that I’m yours seriously?” I mock.

“You know I do.”

“Uh huh. I know we discussed we weren’t gonna bring the past into this. But where was this attitude three weeks ago? Or a month? A year? Two years? Three? Need I go on?”

Ryker palms the base of my neck and brings our foreheads together. “I told you, babe, I’m tryin’ to make up for lost time. Doin’ what I should’ve done.”

“Then you need to understand one thing.” Reaching between Ryker’s legs, I secure his balls in hand.

Sucking in a sharp breath, he jolts in surprise. “What’re you doin’?”

“Gettin’ my point across.” I squeeze, and Ryker grips the base of my neck harder, expelling a ragged breath.

“Fuck,” he rasps.

“Want it to hurt more?” I test.

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Uh oh. This isn’t going as planned. His dick’s growing.

“No,” I fib. “I want you to realize that bein’ a full-on asshole isn’t gonna make me want you.” Any more than I already do. “What you did to my doctor was unnecessary. You got your point across. Now I’m gettin’ mine. Don’t be a prick, Ryker. Be a good guy. Someone our kids will respect and admire. It’s bad enough you and Kade have already ruined future boyfriends for them.”

“Why’s that?” Ryker playfully nudges my nose with his. Cue the feels. Damn him.

“Do you really think they’re gonna be cool with dating some regular Joe Schmo with an average body, who doesn’t ride a Harley? No. They’re not. All girls dig the bad boys. Only, most don’t have a family full of them.”

“My girls aren’t ever dating. Let’s get that outta the way now. And people don’t disrespect you, Kat. I’m not gonna stand for it. So don’t expect me to apologize for puttin’ Megan in her place. She knows the score. If you were from ‘round here, you would, too. We protect this town in exchange for a little respect. You’ve never been comfortable with chicks eye fucking me in front of you—”

“That never stopped them before,” I interject.

“It is now. If I have any say in the matter.”

“You’re being ridiculous. You can’t admonish every woman who eyes you like a piece of candy she wants to suck.”

“Am I a piece of candy you wanna suck, Tiger?”

Ryker’s hot, minty breath fans over my lips as he rotates his hips, forcing my grip on his balls to disengage. Sensuously sliding his hand from my belly to ass, he grips me there and draws our pelvises together. A yummy hardness brushes my clit through my leggings, sparking a wave of pleasure that travels all the way to my toes, forcing them to flex inside my Chucks. I bite back a moan. Jesus. Why does my ex have to be so good in bed? Couldn’t he be an ugly two pump chump? This is so friggen frustrating. Sexually and otherwise.

Cutting him off at the pass before this gets out of control, I push his shoulders away using both hands. “No, Ryker. I don’t wanna suck you like a piece of candy or a toe, or anything else that people suck. Now give Dr. Shipley her dignity back. We need to leave. Our children will be home soon.”

Yeah me! My tone’s much stronger than I anticipated. If only my vag wasn’t flipping me the bird right now. I’ll be lucky if she forgives me anytime soon. She’s tired of going solo, and so am I. Carpel tunnel’s no laughing matter. If Ryker wasn’t an evil bastard, he’d have a removable shower head in his cabin so I could give my poor fingers a break. The other bathroom doesn’t have a removable one either. Trust me, I checked. Ya know, desperate times call for desperate measures, and once you get a cramp in your wrist, you’ll consider almost anything else to bring you to climax when you’re horny. Don’t worry, I didn’t use a cucumber or hump my pillow. Not that I’m judging you if you use those. Go on with your climaxy self. Ya gotta do, what ya gotta do.

When Ryker still doesn’t budge, I slap his unforgiving pec to garner his attention. He’s too busy trying to grind a hole through my leggings. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yep. I just chose not to listen.”

What a shithead.

“Rykerrrr,” I drone, delivering another pec slap. “Stop. Please.”

Grumbling under his breath, Ryker nods once with an adorable frown, then turns around. “You may see yourself out, Megan. Please don’t do this shit again.”

“I won’t. I won’t. I promise.” She stumbles to her feet. Ryker grips her elbow to keep her steady. At least he’s decent enough to do that.

“See you in two weeks,” he calls to her back as she fast walks to the door.

Doc raises a parting hand. “Yes. Two weeks. Have a nice day, you two.”

“Bye,” I return.

“Later,” Ryker adds.

Once she’s out of earshot, I point at Ryker like an insolent child and bang my dangling heels on the side of the exam table. “The step. Please. I can’t get down without it, or I might fall.” Counterbalancing weight when you’re pregnant isn’t always successful. I’ve had my fair share of almost accidents.

Grinning wickedly, Ryker hooks an arm under my legs as the other supports my back. With no effort at all he helps me safely to the floor. I pretend to make a fuss by slapping his chest, when, on the inside, I’m kind of flattered, and slightly turned on. Not from the lift. From the sinister things he was trying to do to my little man in a boat.

Taking charge, I waddle to the doorway and pause when I don’t hear him follow. “Ya coming?” I ask, peeking over my shoulder to find my ex readjusting his bulge as he shamelessly ogles my ass. Because I can’t help myself, I shake it a little and he groans, palming that stunning piece of meat.

“Stop it, Kat. Unless you want me to bend you over right there and take you from behind,” he warns unconvincingly.

The pussycat loves that idea. While I, well, love it, too, it can’t happen. Not sure why at this moment. The line between right and wrong tends to blur in his presence. Doesn’t mean I can’t have my fun, though.

“Stop what?” I play coy and continue working my booty.

There’s not a lot of things I’m great at in this world, but workin’ dat ass is my specialty. The girls and I don’t have dance competitions in our pajamas for nothing. How do you think Scarlett learned to twerk? Not my finest mothering moment. Yet, fun, nonetheless.

“What the fuck did I just say, woman? Stop. You don’t want me puttin’ chicks in their place. You don’t want me to rub up on that pussy. If you expect me to respect this mile-long list of shit you don’t want, then ya gotta give a man a break and stop lookin’ so fuckin’ sexy all the damn time. You’re givin’ me blue balls,” Ryker pleads. It’s endearing, cheek pinch-worthy, and makes the kitty cat purr for some of Daddy’s cream. Hot diggity damn. I need a Ryker reprieve. My brain’s on the verge of turning to wanton mush.

Heeding the man’s request to save both ourselves from a potentially foolish no pants situation, I haul ass, turtle style, out of the room toward the exit. Waving to the receptionist, I yank open a huge front door and see myself outside. Waiting for my driver on the porch, I admire the well-maintained foliage, and that’s when I see the tall, muscular man standing on the opposite side of the road staring straight at me. The guy’s not just any man. He’s wearing a motorcycle vest similar to Ryker’s, yet not from the same club. Panicking, I spin right around to run back inside, not realizing Ryker’s stepping over the threshold when I do. Unsure of what the hell’s about to go down, I wrap my arms around his middle and drive him back into the building.

“Whoa. Hey. What’s goin’ on?” Ryker peels me off him, and I frantically kick the door shut behind me. Which should give us minimum protection if the stalker unloads a clip.

“There’s a big man outside,” I blurt, hands shaking as a heady mix of adrenaline is dumped into my system. I knew this was the calm before the storm. It was just a matter of time.

“What?!” Ryker growls, going for the door like some fool with a hero complex.

I grab his arm to stop him. “Don’t.”

Ryker halts, gripping the knob so tight his knuckles turn white. “Let go and let me handle this, Kat. I should’ve anticipated this would happen.”

This is why I need a gun. For backup. I hate the idea of him going out there alone.

Knowing I need to trust him, I release Ryker’s arm, still worried sick about what may happen. “You better not die, or I’ll be really pissed.”

Chuckling fondly, Ryker snatches my hand and draws me toward him. An arm wraps around my shoulders, and he drops a peck to my upturned forehead. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I can’t die yet ‘cause I still gotta put a ring on that finger.”

Wait … what?

Shocked to my marrow, my thoughts whirl on a turnstile of complex emotions as another kiss is given before Ryker goes to handle business, taking my lassoed heart with him. This isn’t good. Not at all. First, his declaration of love, the move, the cabin, then the quality time spent together, flirting, family time, and now this… What am I going to do? These feelings are growing stronger by the day. That’s not a good sign.

Ryker

Sittin’ on the couch inside the cabin with Rosie beside me, Kat takes her favorite spot—the chair. An hour ago, when I went to scope out the fucker who scared the hell outta my old lady, he was gone. To be safe, I cased the area and swept the truck for anythin’ out of the ordinary before I brought Kat home for her protection. Now I’ve got Rosie here with me so Katrina can tell us what this dead man walkin’ looks like. The club’s got some huntin’ to do.

Poised, hands clasped in her lap, Kat begins. “He was tall. Maybe as tall as you.” She lifts her chin in my direction. “Long dark hair that curled at his jaw. Not sure what color his eyes were. But I can say for sure he was either very tan or biracial. Medium build. Wore what all bikers wear. And he had a lot of tattoos. I don’t know what they’re of, but he had one on his cheek, and his neck was covered. Sorry. That’s all I can remember.”

“That’s great, Kat. Thank you,” Rosie says, leg bouncing. She’s pissed. I can tell. It might be subtle, but I know Rosie takes her jobs seriously, and she was home when this went down. If she wasn’t, it’s a good chance the rival piece of shit woulda been caught, tortured, then killed after we beat as much info outta him as we could. Unfortunately, as much as I wanna laze around and forget about our epic screw up, I’ve gotta call Big first.

Pushing off my knees to stand, I walk by Kat’s chair and drop a kiss on the top of her head. “I gotta make a call, babe. You good?”

She tilts her face up, dazzling eyes on mine. “I’m fine. Go do what you gotta do. Rosie and I need to start dinner anyhow.”

Trailing a knuckle down her cheek next to the scar that’s forming, I soak up her beauty a beat longer. “I’m just gonna step outside. Don’t worry. I ain’t leavin’.”

Kat’s lips part in disbelief. “You’re staying for dinner?”

Offerin’ my lady a flirty smirk, I nod. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“But you always miss it.”

“Not tonight, I’m not. We’re eatin’ as family. I need it.”

“O-oh okay.” Kat exhales in a rush.

Fuck. I dunno how I ever got so lucky.

“Be back in a minute,” I reassure, then glance at Rosie to double check she’s got things covered here. By her slow blink and chin lift, I know she does. I return the lift before exiting the cabin via the backdoor.

Straddlin’ my bike parked next to the wall, I extract my cell and make the dreaded call.

Big Dick answers after the third ring. “Tell me you ain’t callin’ to ask for another favor.”

Smartass.

I snicker, unamused. “Someone was outside the doc’s office today. They’ve infiltrated Red Fort somehow, or they sent a scout. It’s only a matter of time before shit goes down.”

“You’re sure?”

“No, Big. I’m lyin’. Of course, I’m sure. My old lady saw him.”

“And he wasn’t one of ours?”

“He wasn’t,” I confirm.

There’s no doubt that I believe Kat saw what she saw. My fearless woman tried to protect me by drivin’ me back into Dr. Shipley’s instead of gunnin’ the wussy little cunt down. Who the hell comes to town, shows his face to one of their marks, then vanishes before he can finish the job? If he wanted Kat dead, he could’ve shot her on the spot, and nobody, not even me, could’ve stopped him. Fuck. That can’t happen again. She can’t leave the cabin. No more exposure. This is the safest place for her and the kids. The mere thought of somethin’ happenin’ to any of them has my insides twisted all up. This war has gotta end sooner rather than later. Blood will be spilled, and I’ll be damned if it’s hers.

Big replies, “None of Vanessa’s texts were linked to a doctor’s office. Unless—”

“They were sent last night or this morning. I told her before I left last night that I was gonna be busy today. She could’ve put two and two together,” I finish for him.

“You know what you gotta do.”

“I know,” I clip, hating the idea so fuckin’ much my chest physically hurts. I rub it to ease the ache. It does jack shit.

“Good. Send me updates in the mornin’,” Big commands and cuts the call.

Smart choice. We’ve been at each other’s throats all week. Let’s just say Big Dick and I don’t see eye to eye on how to handle family. My loyalties lie in different circles than his does. Not that I don’t see the bigger picture here. I do. The difference is, I don’t give a damn how this affects the club. I give a damn how this is gonna blow back on Katrina, Roxie, Scarlett, and my unborn daughter. Not even my pops matters at this point. If I had to hold a gun to Kade and Katrina’s heads and only one could live, I’d pick my little Tiger each and every time. The nice thing about that is Kade would expect the same. He’d tell me to end his life to save hers. So would Pops and Ghost. That’s why I gotta do what I gotta do. She ain’t gonna like it. Hell. I’m not gonna like it. But when it comes to her safety, there’s not a goddamn thing I wouldn’t do. I’ve been protectin’ Kat since the moment I laid eyes on her. Sure, I slipped up, ‘cause if I was really doin’ my job, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with her and put three babies in her belly. Nevertheless, not a single day goes by that I regret any of it, aside from breakin’ her heart and missin’ out on my kids’ lives. If that was the price to pay so this wouldn’t have happened sooner, then so be it. You can’t change the past. There’s no use in dwelling on it. Right now, I’m gonna forget about what tomorrow brings and spend my final moments with family, where I belong.

Kat

Resting my shoulder on the doorjamb of the girls’ bedroom, I wait my turn to say goodnight. Grandpa, Papa, and Kade have already gotten their turn. Now it’s Ryker’s, who integrated seamlessly into our family evening. Tonight, Rosie and I made meatloaf, whipped potatoes, and corn. For dessert, Dad brought two cheesecakes—one turtle, the other plain vanilla bean. I had a healthy slice of both because baby number three demanded it get in her belly. She’s a greedy one, what can I say?

Placing a final goodnight kiss on Scarlett’s forehead, Ryker crawls across the floor to Roxie, who snuggles down in her bed as he tucks the covers under her chin. Their faces get close and hushed words are exchanged. I’ve noticed a significant change in Rox since we moved here. She’s grown fond of Ryker in a way Scarlett hasn’t, because she’s too busy climbing up Uncle Kade’s ass. Wanna guess what color nail polish he’s rockin’ today? Lime green with pink glitter. Guess it’s a good thing she hasn’t convinced him to do his fingernails, too. Except now Rosie has gotten in on the nail painting sessions per Kade’s insistence. Which leaves three identical sets of toes this week since Scarlett wouldn’t dare be left out.

Another kiss is given before Ryker pushes to his feet and strides my way, coming toe to toe with me. “I’ll meet ya in the bedroom when you’re done.”

“The bedroom?” I squeak quietly enough so the girls can’t hear. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not after the doctor’s office flirtation.

Winking, Ryker chucks my chin and slips past me, clothes brushing clothes. “Yes. It’s not what you think,” he whispers beside my ear, hot breath tingling my skin. Then he’s gone, his receding footsteps sending an unwanted thrill down my spine. What does this man have up his sleeve? If today’s any indication, he’s up to no good.

Shoving all thoughts of Ryker to the wayside, I commence our nighttime ritual. First, I peck the girls’ cheeks, bear hug them until they groan, rub our noses together in Eskimo kisses, say our I love yous, then turn the lamps off, and the book lights on. This is the time of the day my kids read the most—like mother like daughter. There’s just something about nighttime that makes the fantasy world crisper and easier to plunge into. Perhaps it’s the quiet or the stars in the sky. I dunno, but it’s always been that way for me. Not to say it hasn’t gotten me in trouble a few times. Six a.m. binge reads happen a few times a month. Which leads to dragging ass the remainder of the day. Pretty sure we’ve all been there at least once in our lives.

“Mom,” Rox calls as I pad my tired feet to the door.

Turning around to give her my undivided attention, I ask, “Yes, sweetie?”

“Thank you for inviting Ryker to dinner.”

“Oh, honey. He’s always welcome to have dinner with us,” I reassure, hating she thinks otherwise. I’d never kick him out of his own place unless he did something to warrant it. Then I’d unleash the crazy, albeit justified, bitch.

“Okay. Well, thanks anyhow. It was nice to see him.”

“Yes it was,” I agree

Rox grins. “He really likes your meatloaf.”

He always has.

“So do I,” Scarlett interjects, primly laying her book on her kitty printed belly. She has a small cat obsession, so most of her pajamas have kittens on them. If I wasn’t allergic, I’d have gotten her one ages ago regardless of the fact I’m not a feline lover.

“We know that, Scar-lett. You got it all over your shirt,” Roxie snaps, clearly not appreciating her sister’s unsolicited dialogue.

“I was just sayin’,” Scarlett returns equally sassy.

“I didn’t ask you,” Rox argues.

“Well, I didn’t ask you either.”

“Girrrls,” I interject in my stern mom voice. They instantly quit bickering.

Boom. Hammer engaged. Oh, the joys of motherhood.

“Sorry,” they reply in unison.

I wave them off. It’s no big deal. Kids will be kids. “Back to what you said, Rox, before you two decided to fight. Yes, Ryker seemed to like the meatloaf. When he comes back to the cabin each night after you’re in bed, I make sure he has leftovers.”

“He eats the same food as us each day?” Scarlett’s excited.

I smile at her enthusiasm, it’s impossible not to. “Yep.”

“That’s cool,” she adds.

“Sure is. Now get to reading, my little book dragons. I’ll see you in the morning.” Exiting their bedroom, I shut the door and slowly make my way to meet Ryker. Each step grows heavier and heavier until I reach the entrance, heart ready to pound its way out of my chest. Swallowing thickly, I perch my hand on the knob and shove the door all the way open. Ryker’s nowhere to be seen. The soothing sound of running water draws me into the space. Inside the bathroom, Ryker whistles a happy tune.

“I know you’re out there, Kat. Come on; don’t be a scaredy cat,” he summons.

Determined not to let my nerves get the best of me, I push my shoulders back, head held high, and stroll to the bathroom to prove a point. Coolly, I enter the space, only to stop short, stifling a gasp. What the hell? There’s at least ten white pillar candles lit around the tub. Their hypnotic flames flicker in the dim light. An air of unwanted romance encompasses the atmosphere, causing my skin to prickle and thighs to clench. The water’s purple and smells of vanilla and … I inhale deeply to pinpoint that familiar scent—jasmine. The sweet kind; not medicinal. There’s soft rock music playing in the background that I couldn’t register over Ryker’s prior whistling.

Wandering to the tub, I run my fingers through the hot, colored water. “This is nice. Did you do this for yourself?” I play dumb, not wanting to assume, because you know what they say about assuming—don’t do it.

Kneeling beside the bath, Ryker tosses flower petals into the water, one by one. “It’s a peace offering of sorts. You’ve always loved baths. So I’d hoped you’d use this bathtub one day just like this. I know you don’t want anything more from me, Tiger. But I want somethin’ from you.” He looks up at me expectantly from the floor, his face the picture of vulnerability.

Wiping my wet hand on my pants, I cant my head to the side, trying to figure this man out. “What is it you want?”

“I want you to have our daughter at Dr. Shipley’s, so I can help you through the birth. I dunno how long you’re gonna stay in Texas after the threat has been neutralized. But I want you to promise you’ll stay ‘til our daughter’s born. Call me selfish, but I wanna see her come into this world just like I did with Roxie and Scarlett. After that, if the threat’s gone, you can do whatever ya want, and I won’t try to stop you. Hell. I’ll do you one better, I’ll help move ya back to Indiana.”

“All you want is my guarantee that I won’t leave before she’s born?” I clarify.

Ryker dips his head, eyelids closing in a silent prayer. “Yes.”

Little does he know I wasn’t going to cut and run until summer. I decided that on my own this week. The thought of uprooting the girls mid school year for a second time isn’t fair to them. They shouldn’t be punished. Now that I’ve experienced Red Fort firsthand, I’ve come to realize this is an agreeable place to live. Plus, the girls seem to like school a lot. And it’s not like I have much to get back to. My mom, if that’s what you’d call her, knows where I am and doesn’t seem to give two flying fucks. That’s how she operates. Manless, and she’s grandma of the year, always around, wanting to spend time with the kids—with me. Now that she has a new beau, she’s too busy to stop by or care about anything but herself—typical. It’s not changed since I was a child. Only now that I’m an adult, I can read the warning signs. Like I’ve mentioned before, she’s a changed woman—to a degree. Nonetheless, when it comes to the D, it wins over family. Always has. Always will. Wanna know how I know? Since we’ve been here, I’ve initiated a single text conversation that lasted all of five minutes. She’s yet to initiate one herself in any capacity. Old habits die hard. This is why I was raised by my father until his fabricated demise because she couldn’t be bothered to raise the fruit of her loins.

“If you’ll draw me baths like this once a week until our daughter’s born then I agree,” I reply. No use in telling him the whole truth. It’ll come out in due time. Don’t want him getting the wrong idea… Ya know, thinking this is something it isn’t.

“Thank you,” Ryker mumbles more to himself than me.

I say nothing since I’m not sure what’s left to say. A feelings talk is not on my agenda. Between the weird doc’s office, the doctor herself, the rogue biker, family dinner, and everything else, all I wanna do is chill. Not think. Not feel. Just relax behind a carefully constructed steel barricade where pesky worrying and heartfelt emotions are slaughtered by a mighty dragon that Daenerys Targaryen controls like a bad mama jama.

As he finishes filling my bath, I fish a towel out from under the sink and lay it by the tub for later. Flicking the final flower petal into the water, Ryker uses the lip of the tub to help him to his feet. His knees crack loudly through the simple motion, delivering a friendly reminder that we’re no longer young kids—that things have changed. We’re different people. He’s much different. Granted, not completely, as shown by his attention to detail with this cabin. Ryker knows me well. Whereas I know little about him. The stories I was told years ago were fictitious. It’s as if these past few days have exposed an entirely different man. The Brent I knew wouldn’t have put a woman on her knees for disrespecting me. He’d have soaked up the attention in an understated manner. The Brent I knew didn’t wear a leather vest, ride a Harley, or have lots of tattoos. He wasn’t part of a motorcycle club. Then again, my Brent did run me baths and eat whatever I fixed with enthusiasm. He was kind and helpful. In his own way, I thought he loved me even if he never said it aloud. Shit. I’m doing it, aren’t I? The one thing I said I didn’t want… To feel, think, over assess. It’s what I do. Calculating is in my nature. I learned from the best.

Dialing my brain down ten notches, I refocus on the now, which includes Ryker standing before me, the front of his shirt wet from drawing my bath. It molds perfectly to his sculpted chest. Lucky cotton. Eyes downcast, he gestures to the water with the sweep of his hand. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s nervous.

“Take your time. I’ll be in the bedroom when you’re done,” he comments, then swiftly exits the bathroom, shutting the door in his wake before I can get a word in edgewise.

The … bedroom?

Frozen stock-still, I exhale a heavy breath and shake out my arms to alleviate the tension. I will not examine these churning emotions. They mean nothing. This means nothing. It’s a friendly gesture. Loathing the ludicrous way my heart reacts, I thump my breastbone with my fist. “Stop it,” I hiss under breath. “It doesn’t mean anything.” I’m done thinking. Done, I tell ya.

Undressing without falling on my ass, I slip into the heavenly water. An orgasmic moan falls from my lips. It’s perfect. Just what I need. Closing my eyes and tilting my head back, I decompress. The world falls away as I bask in the blankness of my mind. Limbs turn to noodles. Pulse slows to a steady rhythm. The scent of jasmine and burning candles fills my lungs. Swishing my fingers through the water, I concentrate on breathing. It’s never too early for Lamaze training. One minute of pristine nothingness turns to two, then three, and before I know it, the water’s chilly. Dammit.

Re-engaging my lethargic muscles, I sit up to scrub myself. Dillydallying without a care in the world, I massage my scalp and rinse it with clean water out of the faucet as I unplug the drain. The steamy heat sluices through my hair, unleashing a pent-up groan from the pit of my soul. This is too darn good for words…

Eyelids heavy, a small smile curling at the corners of my lips, I swish my Scarlett painted toes through the water until the very last drop swirls down the drain. Then I splash a few handfuls of freshwater across my body to rinse the soap off. Blah. Now I suppose it’s time I get out. Grumbling through clenched teeth, I use the tub for leverage to stand. Yay me, I don’t fall flat on my face. Sadly, it takes three tries to heft my rubbery legs out of the bath and onto the awaiting mat. The lush towel that serves as a small rectangle of fabric dries me off good enough to get by. There’s no use in trying to tie it around my body with a belly this large. One of these years, stores will sell pregnant lady towels. By then they’ll be useless to me.

Wrapping said towel around my wet hair, I meander into Ryker’s closet naked as a jaybird. Who needs maternity wear when I can have my pick of biker duds? One thing’s for sure, Ryker doesn't lack in the clothing department. I don’t think I’ve seen any one man own this many t-shirts. What’s weirder, is they’re hung according to color. Somebody’s a little OCD about his tops. Although, I gotta say, the cool thing about them is that most are Harley shirts from different dealerships around the country. Yanking one off a hanger at random, I flip it over to read the imprint. Dun dun dun, and tonight’s chosen T is from Docs Harley Davidson in Wisconsin. Beneath the hanging clothes is a dresser. Reaching into a drawer, I randomly extract a pair of black joggers. They’re too big, as are the rest of his bottoms… Can I tell you a secret? They make me feel pint-sized, which is why I wear them. Also, they’re Ryker’s, and as much as I don’t want to accept my inner feelings, they’re still naggy naggersons that won’t go away—kinda like gnats or mosquitos.

Taking my precious time, I finish dressing, comb my wavy hair, clean my glasses, apply moisturizer, brush my teeth, floss, roll on powder fresh deodorant, doctor my scarred cheek, and go prepubescent crazy with EOS on my lips. Its strawberry flavored. Can you tell I’m stalling? I am. It’s one thing to hang with Ryker in the living room. It’s another to spend time together in the boudoir… It’s too intimate. Definitely not a place I want to spend any time with him unless I wanted sex. Which, I don’t. Not really. Okay. Yes, ya caught me. I do want sex. Who doesn’t? What I mean is: I’m not gonna have it with him. Not now. Not ever.

Pulling up my proverbial big girl panties, since I’m actually free ballin’, I depart the bathroom to find Ryker sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, staring at a framed picture of me in his hands. The photos that I took down for the girls’ sake, I slid under the bed for safe keeping. He must’ve found them.

Plopping down beside Ryker, close enough that I can see the image, but not enough to touch, I ask, “What ya doin’ there?”

He traces a finger across my body on the photograph. It’s a newer picture of me. Less than five years old. Definitely candid. I’m walking out of my house, smiling to myself, with a purse slung over my shoulder and a stack of books in my arms.

“This is one of my favorites,” Ryker admits, caressing the image affectionately with his fingertip.

“Why?” I whisper, not wanting to sever the moment.

“You look happy.”

“I do.” He’s right. I know where this is going. “I have been. You didn’t break me by leaving.”

Ryker massages the back of his neck, ejecting a pain laced groan that burrows deep enough to hit marrow. “Shouldn’t have done it.”

“We’re not rehashing this anymore. What’s done is done.” To offer comfort, I lay a hand on his knee. “We’re here now. Life goes on.”

“Until you leave.”

“Until I leave,” I agree.

Ryker’s much bigger palm comes to rest atop mine. His balming heat absorbs into my flesh, joining us as one for a small window of time. Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. We sit here side by side, breathing the same air, skin on skin, and simply be together. My deprived heart rejoices, getting the wrong impression like she often does. Whereas my mind finds a sliver of peace alongside its capacity to forgive Ryker’s wrongdoings. There’s no anger in this space. No hatred. Just love in its simplest form.

A weight that has burdened me for years lifts off my shoulders.

Minutes later, Ryker’s the first to pull away. Wordlessly, he removes his shirt hot man style, the muscles in his arms and abs contracting through the smooth motion. Tossing his balled shirt to the floor, his nipples pucker as they hit the air, accentuating the barbells pierced through them. Salivating like a horny teenager, I watch him flick the silver bars, tightening those buds further. Tiny goosebumps sprout around them. Now, why did he have to go and do that? Someone’s playing with fire.

Lifting his glittering eyes to mine, Ryker seductively undoes his pants, plying me with his sexual prowess. The naughty curl of his lip is a dead giveaway. Shithead. He knows I’m not going to complain about his rippling physique. Years ago, it used to make me blush and act like a bumbling idiot. Guess it’s nice to know I’ve somewhat evolved. Trust me. I’m not the only person who believes it’s a crime against humanity to hide that exquisite maleness under layers of clothes.

Kicking his jeans off, revealing my special tattoo on his thigh, Ryker slips under the covers and pats the spot beside him. “Come to bed.”

Excuse me?

Umm … Nope … Nope … Hellll nope.

Arching a brow, I regard him as if he’s lost his damn mind, because he has. “I’m not coming to bed with you.” The man candy buffet is meant to be ogled, not sampled. Smelling him all the time is bad enough. Watching him wander through the house shirtless makes me wet. The last thing I want is to lay beside the ultimate temptation.

Undeterred, he pats the spot again, harder. “Come on, Tiger. I wanna sleep beside you. We don’t have to touch. All we’re doin’ is sleepin’.”

My irritation flares. “Do you think you could’ve asked me before you assumed this was okay?” Why does he always assume A=B without considering my stance?

“It’s sleeping,” he reiterates calmly, palms up to placate me.

“With our children in the same house.” His thick skull needs to remember that. Is it just me, or does he always go and ruin a perfectly magical moment by doing something so stupid that I wanna throat punch him?

Back against the headboard, Ryker rubs his exposed chest absentmindedly. “Sleep, Katrina. Sleep. No sex. I’m not gonna try to make a move on you. You have my word.”

My first reaction is to blurt, ‘your word means jack shit.’ But that’s counterproductive. Instead, I will myself to relax a pinch so I don’t throttle him. Then I respectfully consider his stupid proposal like an adult. The deliberation lasts all of five seconds. There’s no way he’s going to convince me this isn’t a horrible idea.

Ryker doesn’t relent. “That bedroom door’s locked. I’m gettin’ up before the girls. We won’t even talk. Just sleep. Okay?” He’s on the verge of begging, and damn if it doesn’t look good on him. Those puppy dog blues should be illegal.

Standing my ground, I shake my head. “Not happening.”

“For one night.”

“Then you’ll ask for two,” I quip.

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“I’ll want to, but I won’t,” he promises, lying a palm over his heart and dipping his head in a silent vow. It’s nearly enough to convince me to leap over the line of insanity and join him on the other side.

Heaving a sigh, I rub our daughter to center myself.

“Babe, I need this for one night.” Another plea, much sadder and full of sorrow.

He’s killin’ me here. Why can’t he accept I’m not comfortable with this? Sighing inwardly, I force myself to be the bigger person.

Conceding for his sake, I swallow the dangling bait like a mindless fish. “Why does it have to be tonight?”

“Because it does. And if you give me this, I’ll make sure you have pecan pie here every single night.”

That sounds delicious but unnecessary. “You don’t need to bribe me, Ryker. I can’t be bought. I just wanna know the truth.”

“The truth is that I love you and I miss sleepin’ beside ya,” His rough and tumble Texan twang comes out in full force. “I’ve given ya space, and I’m not violatin’ that by sharin’ our—your bed with you.”

Knowing damn well this sexy fool won’t give in, I waddle to my side of the bed and join him beneath the soft covers. Turning onto my side, facing him, cheek on the pillow, Ryker snuggles down until our noses are inches apart and his breath fans my face. He carefully slips my glasses off and sets them on his nightstand before returning to the same position. Tilting his chin up, he pecks the tip of my nose. “Goodnight, beautiful. Sleep well, and thank you for this.”

I stifle a yawn. “Goodnight, Ryker. Thank you for today.” It was quite special.

Our noses bump as he leans forward and presses an innocent, soul surrendering kiss to my lips. “No. Thank you for today,” he breathes there, smelling of … Ryker. Gifting me a small smile, he pecks my nose once more and turns over to turn out the light.

Hopefully, I can get some sleep tonight. If not, there’s always a bathroom to ease the growing ache between my thighs. I dunno what I’ve gotten myself into, but I pray I don’t regret it tomorrow. Wish me luck.

Kat

Walking into the kitchen in my pajamas, I come to a full stop when I see Kade filling bowls with cereal. Not Ryker. What the heck’s going on? When my alarm went off, Ryker was gone just as he said he’d be. There was no note. But here stands his brother… Kade’s never arrived this early aside from the day of the lip incident. We have a standing family dinner date each night. Not breakfast.

If he’s here, that means… My heart and stomach hit the floor like a sack of flour.

Confused to the bone, I loosely point to him, the bowls, the girls, and the milk carton on the counter. “Kade?” My voice quivers.

What could only be described as pity stares back at me.

“Morning, Mom,” Roxie says.

“Morning.”

I paste on a fake smile to hide the brewing sickness that’s twisting me up. How could Ryker do this? He promised he’d be here every morning, and if he wasn’t, he’d send family. Okay. So I guess he did keep that promise. But he could’ve told me he was leaving. What was he thinking? Oh, right, he wasn’t. Was that why he wanted to sleep in bed with me last night? Why I found him spooning me when I woke up to pee in the middle of the night? I laid there in the cocoon of his protective arms until baby number three decided to play soccer with my bladder. When I climbed back into bed, he somehow knew I was there. His legs tangled with mine. Palm loved on my belly. It was sweet. Too sweet. Too familiar. The emotions I always tamp down began to runneth over. Then came the tears, the anger, my fears. It was three a.m. before I could get back to sleep.

“Morning, Kat. Could I speak with you for a moment?” Kade thumbs toward the rear of the house, indicating that’s where we should talk. I nod definitively and follow him out the back door as the girls eat.

“What the hell’s going on, Kade?” I demand, leaning against the rough exterior right outside the door, to keep the wind from biting my skin and the rocks from digging into my feet. It’s too damn cold to stay out here long. Should’ve grabbed a hoodie.

Kade paces the drive in front of me. A knife’s extracted from his cut, thus commencing his sadistic, crazy town, blade worship. The polished steel glistens in the early morning sun that cuts through the trees. He swishes the weapon through the air exchanging hands frequently. If he’s not careful he’s gonna drop that thing.

Crossing my arms to conceal my painfully hard nipples, I tap an impatient, fuzzy pink foot on the ground. If he doesn’t spill now, I’m going indoors. There’s no use in freezing to death. “Kade,” I prompt for a final time.

The pacing ensues. “I’m gonna murder my brother, Kat,” he growls.

“Why?”

“He’s with her. I got a call at five this morning…” Kade shakes his head in disgust and spits on the ground. “That piece of shit asked me to move in here. He wants me to take his spot.” Derision drips like rich golden honey from his lips.

Logically, I knew that’s what had to have happened, or Kade would’ve mentioned this last night when he was here for supper. But it doesn’t hurt any less to hear it spoken aloud. My chest physically aches at the sad reality coming to fruition for the third time. First, he leaves shortly after Scarlett was born, again last year when he showed up unannounced, and now. I knew the ball would drop at some point. It always does. Today must be the day. That son of a bitch played me. That bath and all those romantic speeches were chockfull of slimy bullshit. And for what? What did that accomplish? Guess that’s what I get for wanting to believe in him. That he’d changed. So much for honesty. Goddamn untrustworthy men. Is my heart really that fun of a toy to mess with?

Combing my fingers through my tangled bed hair, I sigh. “Are you going to stay?” Please say yes. Please say yes.

Kade stops pacing and turns toward me, jaw ticking, nostrils flaring. “You’re my family. Those are my girls.” He stabs the knife through the air, indicating the backdoor. “That’s my girl.” He gestures to my belly with his weaponless hand. “You’re mine to take care of. That dumb fuck is gonna wish he never did this. I know he’s been there for Vanessa a lot more than I approve of. But I let it go, ‘cause he was still takin’ Rox and Scarlett to school. And you seemed happy. This, Watermelon Tits, ain’t gonna make you happy. This is gonna turn you into a mopey, pie addict. He’s gonna pay for this, Katrina. I’m gonna make him suffer.” With that, Kade unleashes a venom-drenched grunt and expertly pitches his knife at a nearby tree, sinking half the blade into the bark. Snarling, he leaves the thing there and marches to the door. Kade yanks it open so hard I worry it’ll rip off its hinges. Then he tilts his chin toward me, his chest struggling to breathe through boiling fury. “Come on. Get inside. Let’s get my girls ready for school. It’s too fuckin’ cold out here for ya.”

What a mess I’m left to clean up.

Complying, I pat Kade’s stomach in silent support as I slip between him and the door. Surprisingly, he shuts it quietly behind him. We pad our way back into the kitchen with forced smiles on our faces to pretend none of this horseshit happened for the girls’ sake. They don’t need to be dragged into whatever vendetta Kade has officially carved in stone. This is between him and Ryker. I’ve got my own bone to pick with him whenever he comes around again. Until then it’s radio silence. I’m not gonna text or call. Weak women do that shit… Strength is more than an eight letter word. And I’ll be damn if I lose that part of myself because Ryker did what I always knew he’d do. I’m stronger than that. Nope. I’m not gonna cry. He doesn’t deserve my tears. This itch in my eye is merely a fluke. I’m good. Right as rain. Perfect.

Fuck men.

Raiding the refrigerator, I dig into the bottom shelf where I hid an extra slice of pecan pie. Emotional eating has never been my forte. But I don’t give two dookies about that right this second. Pecans are calling my name at seven in the morning, and there’s not a person here gonna stop me from plugging my gaping sorrows with a slice of sugary happiness.

Kat

8 days later…

Folding laundry on the bed in my quasi-room, I separate the girls’ clothes from mine in nice, neat piles while they do their homework in their bedroom. It’s been an exhausting week. Between Kade and Rosie’s constant bickering, aka weird foreplay, and me being unusually tired, I’ve not been in the best of moods. I could blame this on Ryker, but that’d give him more credit than he deserves. The singular text he sent on Sunday has gone unanswered. As I said, I’m ignoring him. That’s what you get when you choose to skip out on family without a word. Dad and Bear assure me it’s not what I think. Of course, they’d say that. What else can they say? Sorry, but your ex, who says he loves you, is taking care of his pregnant wife? I think not. Hell. I’m not even mad about it. Just tired. Tired of being cooped up. Tired of not working. Tired of my feet hurting and ankles swelling. Tired of peeing every hour. This is as much pregnancy woes as it is anything else. The little one isn’t taking it easy on mama. Three a.m. ballet in my belly has become the norm as of late. I’ve tried to convince her that when I sleep she should sleep, but she’s rebelling—typical kid. She’s unborn going on fifteen.

There’s a knock at the bedroom door.

“Yes?” I call out.

“It’s me.”

The air seizes in my lungs, and my heart sputters to a disbelieving halt before refiring all engines. The shirt I’m holding slips through my numb fingers, tumbling back onto the small pile as I stare blankly at the wall straight ahead, teeth sunk into my healed bottom lip. I blink twice, praying that I’m hearing things in my old age.

A second knock reverberates.

No such luck.

“We need to talk.”

No, we don’t.

Shaking myself out of this fog, I pretend I’m deaf and fold Roxie’s shirt that I dropped.

“Katrina, I know you can hear me.”

Nope. No, I can’t. Real mature, I know. Don’t hold it against me.

“You never answered my text.”

Sure didn’t.

“It’s not what it seems.”

That’s what they all say.

Why’s he here anyhow? Eight days of absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder. Whoever made that line up is a big fat liar liar pants on fire.

The next shirt gets half-assed folded and tossed atop the others. Not that the girls will care. Doing laundry is my least favorite chore. I only do it when I have to. Folding clothes is more of a pain than it’s worth. If I wouldn’t feel guilty about balling the clothes up and chucking them into a drawer, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

“I miss you.”

Uh huh. And I’m Lord Voldemort. Whoops, my bad. I mean, he who shall not be named.

“Baby, please. We need to talk.”

Damn him, and that lusciously deep bass steeped with regret that calls to my tender insides like a broken tiger to his tigress… Why’d Ryker have to go and pull out the big guns? It’s my weakness. Phony or not, doesn’t matter, my traitorous gut’s going haywire, wanting to give in to temptation. Good thing I’m stronger than that. I dunno how he got in this house without Kade carving Jack O’ lanterns out of his testicles. It’s only a matter of time before he realizes his bro’s here and they have it out. While I may not be pissed at Ryker, Kade’s a different story. His anti-Ryker rantings are a daily reminder as to why Dickcheese is my best friend, and I’m blessed to have him in my life. How many women can say they have a platonic male best friend? Not many. Kade hasn’t left the cabin since he moved his shit in. Unless it was to take the girls to school. Aside from that, we’re inseparable. Now if I could get him to give up the remote once in a while, we’d be set.

Going about my laundry business undeterred, Ryker tries again. “You don’t have to believe me. But it’s club business. That’s why I couldn’t and can’t tell you why I was gone.”

Rolling my eyes and smacking my lips together in agitation, I shake my head.

Liar. He was with Vanessa. That’s no secret.

“You need to punch me. It’ll make ya feel better.”

Yes, it would.

Testing that theory, I squeeze my fist together, turning my knuckles to snow. Cupping my opposite palm, I lightly punch it, satisfied by the smack that echoes on impact.

“Katrina. We. Need. To. Talk.”

“No. We. Don’t!” I seethe, powerless to stop myself from putting him in his damn demanding place. Who does he think he is?

The doorknob turns, and Ryker enters the bedroom without permission. So much for not stepping on any toes or pushing my limits. He’s in my domain without consent. Not that that’s stopped him before.

Heavy footfalls clomp across the hardwood, spiking my pulse with each step. Familiar heat saturates my back through my thin t-shirt as Ryker wraps his big arms around my much smaller frame, hands splaying on top of our daughter. Lips nestle into my hair, which I left down today. I don’t dare breathe. Don’t dare move. There’s nothing to say here. He’s not gonna play me again. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me the other billion times it’s happened, shame on me.

A sense of dread boils up my throat, forming a knot there that’s difficult to swallow.

“Hi, baby,” he mutters tenderly, delivering an equally tender kiss to my head, as his fingers massage tiny circles along my stretched skin, eliciting unwanted goosebumps.

Briefly closing my eyes, I rewind the clock three hours, when Ryker was a figment of my imagination. Not in the living flesh, overwhelming me with affection. Three hours ago, there was no scent of him lingering in the air. No jagged southern drawl. No tingling breath wafting across my skin. Or the promise of future pain lingering like a putrid stench. I was fine. Mending myself after a small blow to the solar plexus when he disappeared last week. I’ve moved on. Which I’m an expert at. Having him here is ruining all the progress I started to rebuild. This needs to stop.

“Please don’t touch me,” I rasp, afraid that if I touch him, I’ll shatter into a million pieces of nothingness.

Water swims in my eyes.

“Kat. Please don’t do this.” His voice cracks.

Embracing my resolve with grace, I slip my eyes closed. Two tears slide down my cheeks. “It’s done.”

Ryker clears his throat and holds on a little tighter as if I won’t force him to go. That he doesn’t want to. Like he needs me when we all know that’s a fat lie. I should’ve released him from my heart ages ago. Carved the pieces out with a spoon and let them shrivel and die in the cemetery where broken dreams lie. Instead, I pushed them deeper, hiding them away from the world so I could go on and do what I had to do. Stupid me. A raw sob crawls up my throat, and I force it back down. This is enough. I can’t live like this anymore. Here today. Gone tomorrow. Loving me today. Loving her more tomorrow. I hate when my equilibrium’s rocked. That seems to happen a lot lately. And it’s harder to handle when my pregnancy hormones are out of whack.

Ryker’s phone vibrates against my ass from inside his jeans pocket. Heaving a mournful sigh, he forces himself to let go to check it.

“Fuck!” he bellows. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This isn’t over Kat. But Vanessa’s in labor. I gotta take her to the hospital.” As quickly as Ryker arrived, he departs, delivering a chaste kiss to my cheek before dashing from the room. Today, he will be a father again. Today, he and his wife will reconcile.

Life isn’t fair.

Angry with the world, I fling all the clothes off the bed with a wrecked cry that punches its way out of my broken soul. Climbing onto the mussed mattress, I curl into a ball on my side, and let my iron strength disperse into oblivion. Tears fall. Sobs wrack my frame. Snot drips, and I don’t give a hoot. Stuffing my face into the soft pillow, I give myself permission to mourn the shitty happenstances in my life. Liquid anguish falls for my girls. For losing Ryker when I never really had him. What a fool I’ve been. Texas is gonna test my strength much more than when he left the first time. When they say God only gives you what you can handle, well, he must think I can carry mountains on my back. And I’ll be damned if I prove him wrong. I’m Katrina Remington, and I’m a motherfucking survivor.

“Kat, wake up. Kat,” Rosie shakes me urgently awake. My eyes pop wide open, as a douse of adrenaline kicks me in high gear. Wait … what’s going on? Where am I? Oh … right. I was crying and must’ve fallen asleep. What time is it?

Yawning, I roll onto my back, hand lying atop my jackhammering heart. Rosie’s stricken face stares down at me. “You scared the piss outta me. Not literally, but still. What’s up?” I ask.

“You need to get up now. Kade has the girls. This isn’t a drill. Get out of bed.”

I sit up slowly. That’s not good enough for her. Rosie grabs my hand in a death grip and drags me in a half-jog behind her out of the bedroom, and down the hall without giving my brain a chance to catch up. What the hell’s going on?

“Rosie?”

“There’s a dozen or more bodies in the woods. My motion detectors just went off. It’s about to get bloody. And you and the girls need to get to the safe room before Kade and I handle these bastards.”

Rosie forces me into the kitchen, headed straight for the pantry where the floor panel has been lifted, exposing a set of wooden stairs. Whoa. That’s fancy. The kind of James Bond shit you see in movies. Knowing I’d be a fool not to listen, I diligently follow my bodyguard down the steps. There’s a single bulb dangling from the ceiling in the basement. Whoever built this space was ready for the apocalypse. The walls are smooth concrete. The floors and ceiling the same. In the center of the near barren room is a thick, steel door pried wide open. Inside are my kids and Kade.

“Mom!” Scarlett bolts off the bed she’s seated on and darts for me. Kade puts an arm out stopping her before she can make it two steps.

“Sit down. She’s coming in here with you,” Kade instructs in a brisk, no-nonsense tone.

Scarlett’s tiny nose scrunches at being reprimanded by her favorite person as she immediately complies. Roxie, trying to mollify her sister, throws an arm over her shoulder for support. Good big sis.

Rosie tugs me into the cramped metal room that’s not much larger than a prison cell. There’s a metal toilet and sink like those in jail. A bunk bed. The inlayed shelves are stocked with water and nonperishable foods. On the wall, there’s a fancy number pad that Rosie points at, and a small surveillance screen that displays the spot outside the door in black and white.

“This is your only way out of the safe room.” She plugs a code in on the keypad.

“Is this like Jodi Foster in that movie?” I ask, struck … I dunno. I can’t believe this is happening. When did Ryker install this room? It had to have been when he built the cabin. Did he have the foresight to see this coming? Or is he one of those always prepared men? My money’s on the latter.

“Never saw whatever movie you’re talking about,” Rosie says at the same time Kade blurts, “Yes,” standing right outside the metal box where I can see him on the screen.

“I just activated the room. No one can get in without you opening the door first. The code to unlock it is your birthday. Ryker made it so you couldn’t forget. Now we must go.”

Kade pushes past bossy Rosie and wraps me in a quick but effective bear hug. Drawing back, he cups my face, meeting my worried eyes with his steadfast ones. He’s not even shaken up. “You’ll be safe. Don’t worry.”

There’s a loud crash upstairs.

“Shit,” Rosie hisses. Dressed in all black, she extracts a set of shiny throwing stars from her jacket. “They’re inside. We gotta go, Kade. There’s no time.”

Buying a few more precious seconds, Kade knocks our foreheads together. “I love you. Love you so much. You know that? No matter what happens. Know that I love you.”

Our damp fingers intertwine between us, holding on for dear life. I dunno what I’ll do if something happens to him. “I know. And I love you more.”

“Not possible. Now keep my girls safe. This place is bulletproof. Fireproof. You have a separate air system. Electrical. Water. All of it. You’re gonna be just fine. Take care of our family.”

“I will.”

Releasing him is one of the hardest moments of my entire life. There’s a kiss to the forehead. Ruffling of the girls’ hair. A parting wave and tight smile from Rosie. Then they’re gone. The metal door seals shut, and the mounting noise of enemy infiltration ceases to exist.

Kneeling in front of my daughters, which is no easy feat, I place a steady hand on each of their knees. This is going to be the scariest day of their lives, and I’ll be damned if I don’t do my best to siphon every ounce of their fear away. “There’s some bad stuff going to happen. We are going to be okay.”

“Are Kade and Rosie?” Tears shimmer in Scarlett’s eyes. It’s difficult to watch. Nobody wants to see their child cry.

This is the time in your life you can choose to lie to your kids or give it to them straight. I aim for a little something in the middle. “I hope so. But they love you. We love you. Now how about we get a snack since we didn’t get to have dinner?”

“Kade fed us grilled cheese and told us to let you sleep.” Combing her fingers nervously through her hair, Roxie then lays her hand on top of mine. It’s almost the same size. My babies are growing up too fast.

“That was nice of Kade.” I crack a sad smile. “He’s a great uncle.”

Scarlett nods, frowny-faced as Roxie agrees, “He is,” not fairing much better in the expression department. I hate they have to experience any of this. But I’m grateful they’re safe, and that trumps everything else in the entire galaxy. Scars can be mended if you live to fight another day.

Tucked beside Scarlett’s butt is a small stack of paperbacks they must’ve brought with them. I point to their mental outlet. “Why don’t you two read for a while?”

My girls exchange questioning looks, then nod at my request. Scarlett hands Roxie her book and takes her own. Scooting backward on the bed together, they rest their backs against the metal wall, pajama-clad knees drawn up. Hauling myself to my feet, I pull the blanket off the top bunk and drape it across their legs to keep them warm. It’s a bit nippy in here.

Not knowing what to do with myself, I grab a box of granola bars off the shelf and a bottle of water. Then I sit on the floor. This space wasn’t built for comfort. It was built for safety— to be used in case of an emergency. And since there’s no chairs to speak of, the floor is the next best thing, because there’s no way I’m climbing on the top bunk. Nor am I going to ask my daughters to do the same. I’m fine down here where I can watch the small black and white screen and feed my face. I’ve gotta do something to keep busy while I worry myself to death. They better not die out there, or I’m going to blame myself. None of this should’ve happened in the first place.

Clasping my hands in front of me, eyes closed, chin on chest, I pray. It doesn’t happen often, and I’m a bit rusty, but something’s better than nothing.

Please don’t let my favorite people die protecting me.

Rosie

The metal door to the safe room comes to a flush close. I turn towards Kade, who has a set of impressive Bowie knives clenched in his fists, ready to maim. Good. I might need some backup. Probably not. But it never hurts to work smarter, not harder. This isn’t a game, where showmanship counts. It’s life or death, and I’m a pint-sized grim reaper.

Together, we pause at the bottom of the wooden stairs, and I hold my breath to listen. There’s at least one man inside the cabin. The light creak of the floorboards accentuates each of his steps. If you weren’t trained to hear them, you wouldn’t. It’s a good thing I am.

Raising my chin to grab Kade’s attention, I flick my eyes to the top of the stairs. “I’m going up first,” I whisper.

“Like hell you are.” Kade tries to butt his muscular body in front of mine. Kicking my leg out to stop his ascent, I massage my temple with two fingers, trying hard to convince myself not to hurt him since he’s an ally. Men. Always have to push their way into situations.

Listen. I get it. I’m small. Always have been. Always will be. It’s common for guys, especially bikers, to underestimate the little lady. Half of them either mock me, or try to be the knight in shining armor and come to my rescue. What they don’t realize is I’m their savior. Not the other way around. I’m the woman you want doing your bidding. The one who always gets the job done. This isn’t about whose balls are bigger or badder. Because mine are always the biggest and the baddest. Men don’t appreciate their fragile egos bruised by a chick half their size. That’s not my problem. It’s theirs. I’m smart enough to deduct male chauvinism is about to unfold right here and now, as Kade, and his hunky muscles, try to run the show. When, in reality, we all know I’m in charge. It’s not a matter of cockiness. It’s a matter of talent. And I blow all his biker buddies, including his national prez, out of the water with my skills. You don’t spend years honing my unique talents for nothing. What would be the fun in that?

Kade glares down at my leg that’s outstretched on the staircase, refusing to let him pass. Cocking my head to the side, I arch a stern, challenging brow. “Katrina’s mine to protect. You will follow my lead.”

There’s a shuffle of booted feet in the pantry. A floorboard squeaks. Some idiot bad boy obviously thinks he’s made us. Out of my periphery, I catch a glimpse of the guy with a handgun aimed our way, seeking a clear target. Without thinking twice I fling a throwing star up at his carotid, my eyes still focused on Kade. Half-smirking, as calm as can be, I raise my hand to count down the man’s expiration date…

“Fuck!”

One. Up goes my pointer finger. This is when the casualty yanks the lethal star out of his throat, thinking it’s just a scratch that can be compressed. Not with my special weapons it can’t. Two. Like clockwork, there’s a loud thud as he drops to his knees clutching said wound. Three. My smirk broadens to a knowing grin, as a telltale set of gaspy gurgles sing to my dead heart like a beautiful symphony. Four. My pinkie gets some action. Another thud resounds and is quickly followed by a stream of crimson that drips off the ledge of the pantry floor, staining the top step.

“Any questions?” I test, my tone uniform. There’s no need to brag when I’ve proven my point.

Kade’s jaw unhinges as he watches the drip drip drip of blood painting the step. Clearing his throat, he adjusts his crotch. I’d laugh if it weren’t for the seriousness of the moment. Kicking into fourth gear so I can handle business per usual, I issue my orders like any Sergeant worth their salt. “Katrina might be safe down here. But it’s your job to secure this structure while I handle the hostiles in the woods.” I punch his shoulder in comradery. “Don’t die. And clean up the blood mess. There’s a tarp under the sink.”

Not giving him a chance to debate, I listen half a second more before I ascend the stairs with Kade two paces behind me. Stepping over the prone biker with a pool of blood spread underneath him, I flick off the pantry light, and we shut the basement hatch. Picking my star off the floor, I toss it in the sink to wash later. It’s show time. Crouching, I duck walk out of the kitchen to my bedroom to retrieve my weaponry. A spray of bullets attempt to take out the front windows. Amateurs. If they were as smart as they think they are, they would’ve done their homework on the cabin. The walls are made of thick timber. Some of the hardest woods money can buy. They’re nearly impenetrable. And the windows are made of bulletproof glass. Sure, they won’t hold up indefinitely, but that measly round of ammo isn’t going to do diddly squat. Ryker outfitted this place to be a fortress. If we’d have remembered to lock the back door, my first kill of the night wouldn’t have breached the threshold so soon. Makes for fun sport, though.

Arming myself to the nines with throwing knives, stars, and other fun blades, I shrug on my slash resistant jacket, my black beanie to conceal my blonde hair, and secure my military grade night vision band around my head. I keep the goggles folded upward to drop in place once I’m outdoors. Bet those imbeciles won’t be outfitted with night scopes. Wannabe badasses never are.

Officially loaded down with necessities, I shoot off a text to Ryker, Bear, and Big to give them a heads up that we’re under attack. Just in case Kade hasn’t had time to do it himself. He’s probably too busy picking the dead man off the floor. If I have any say in what happens, he won’t have to engage a single time tonight. But if shit goes south, he’ll be the only one left to protect Katrina and her daughters until backup arrives. If I knew he wouldn’t fight me on it, I would’ve locked him in the safe room with them. Less chance of someone dying on my watch. Not that I think he’s a dummy and can’t handle himself. Wouldn’t give him free reign if I did.

Another spray of bullets ricochets off the side of the cabin. Shaking my head at their stupidity, I double check my weaponry. Sweet. All set. It’s time to do what I was born to do. There’s not much that can take away the unrelenting pain that hangs heavy in my chest. But this … it numbs the ache for a short while. Making it mildly bearable. It’s better than putting a gun to my head and pulling the trigger. Don’t think for a second that thought doesn’t blast through my mind a hundred times a day. Less so, now that I’ve been here. Must be the domesticity. It’s been years since I’ve stayed in any one place longer than a day or two. Living with Kat and her children have given this dead soul some semblance of a life I forgot existed outside of grief and self-loathing. But that’s a story for another time… No use in obsessing about it now. Lord knows I dwell on it too much as is.

Bowing my head in prayer, I touch my forehead, chest, and either shoulder in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Guess old habits die hard. There’s no bloodshed without homage to the Almighty above.

Bending over to check my boot laces, I brush my pant legs off, and mentally prepare to kick some major ass. Knowing that I can’t walk out the front door. I cross the hall to the bathroom, pry open the window in the shower stall, do a quick check of the area shrouded in brush, then climb out, landing in a cat-like crouch on the ground below. Dropping my night lenses into place, I secure a throwing star in one hand, and my favorite leather handled dagger in the other.

Surveying the dark woods with my new vision, I double check the coast is clear before dashing into the tree line. Ducking behind a thick trunk, I wait for the nearest biker to enter my line of sight. It doesn’t take long. A man dressed in black wearing a leather cut snaps various twigs underfoot as he tromps between trees without a care in his puny mind. He stops a few yards away and radios someone as he scans the landscape, skipping over me, who’s not trying to hide. There’s no need to. It’s too damn dark for him to see much of anything outside the light on the end of his semi-automatic rifle.

Bored to pieces by this lazy kill, I yawn loudly enough for him to hear. Jerking his light in my direction, he randomly calls, “If you don’t show yourself, I’m gonna kill ya.” He has a sexy voice. Too bad nobody will ever hear it again. Mr. Biker’s not only an idiot; he’s delusional if he thinks he’s gonna kill me. Nobody messes with the Sacred Sinners. One of these days outlaw biker rejects who can’t join larger clubs will get that through their thick skulls. If not. I’ll be paid to do the dirty work.

Baiting the dummy, I fan my mouth with the dagger for the hell of it and yawn again, leaning against a tree, ankles crossed. Big could’ve given me a harder job. This is like taking candy from a baby.

The light of the man’s scope finally shines on my stomach. Migrating the beam upward until he reaches my face, I wave my dagger at him, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. Then I narrow my sight at the pulse point on the side of his neck and whoosh, I release a special throwing star with the flick of my lethal wrist. The guy clasps his throat before he knows what hit him. One, he yanks the weapon out, dropping his own in the process. Two, he sinks to his knees as blood to his brain ceases to exist. Don’t try this at home, kiddies. It’s taken me years to perfect my throw and find the perfect type of star needed to achieve the ultimate kill shot without using a gun. Most would say it’s impossible. That this isn’t a Kung Fu movie. Well, I’m here to tell ya, I’m not just anybody. There’s a reason I do what I do.

By the time my countdown’s finished, and he’s all but dead, I stroll up to his prone form and flip him onto his back. Dead eyes stare up at the stars, as blotches of crimson dots his full lips. Yes, it really is a shame. He’s kind of hot for a dead man. Rechecking the area to make sure we’re still alone, I kneel beside his body. This is the hardest part of my job. One that I don’t allow anyone to witness. Dabbing my thumb in the blood on his lip, I peel the black bandana off his head and paint a red cross on his forehead. Just because the man made a poor choice to come here doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve the utmost respect. This man was a son to someone. Loved by people. And tomorrow they’ll be forced to mourn his death because of me. I don’t take that power lightly. It’s not an easy pill to swallow, but a necessary one in my line of work.

Two of my fingers slip his eyelids shut. Briefly closing my own eyes out of respect, I bow my head and touch my forehead, my chest, and each shoulder in the name of the Father, of the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen. Reopening my eyes, I search for his name patch on the breast of his vest and use my dagger to strip him of it.

Rest in peace, Tanner.

Inside my Velcro chest pocket goes the patch. Back on my feet, I nimbly seek the next foe I have to put to ground.

One-by-one, I pick off the thinning herd. Each man’s patch joins its brothers. Not a single death lasts long. That’s not my style if I can help it. As the famous gunnery sergeant John Basilone once said, “Never fear your enemy, but always respect them.”

Soon, eight unlucky SOBs are dead by my hand, their blood staining the forest or cabin floor, when I finally come upon three who’ve stuck together, raining bullets upon the Suburban, the demolished back door, the cabin, and Kade’s Harley. The scent of gasoline perfumes the air. Glass shatters. Tires flatten. The windows at the back of the house begin to crack under pressure. Three bikers nearly all the same height, stand shoulder to shoulder through the ear-splitting rumble of bullets. They laugh, pointing their weapons at Kade’s wrecked bike. He loved that thing. But it’s an object. It can be replaced, unlike the lives I’m about to take. If they were smart, they would know the rest of their brothers have met their maker. But they’re too busy yucking it up. I step behind them in the gravel driveway, no longer shrouded by tree cover. There’s only one other person scampering about in this forest. I’ll see to him last. Unless he somehow breached the front door of the cabin. I haven’t been able to check. From what I hear, Kade’s less forgiving to his victims than I am. So if he did make it inside, the poor fella probably wishes I was there to put him out of his misery.

Palming three throwing stars, I fling them in succession at the base of the men’s necks. No kill shots, but enough to get their attention and wake up the pain receptors in the brain. The middle man’s the first to yank it out with a howl of pain. The right leaves his in and turns on me, spraying bullets in my direction. Pushing off the balls of my feet, I front flip in a blur, then cartwheel and backflip out of the line of fire. Landing in a crouch, feet away, I secure three throwing knifes from my jacket and bing, bang, boom, they sink in to three separate thighs. Another three are extracted and flung, sinking into their opposite legs. More howls of pain and vehement curses of rage are spat as they attempt to blow me to smithereens. The dark’s my ally. They can’t see exactly where I am. I’m too fast.

Dodging their next round of fire, I flip, spin, and turn every which way to save my hide. Then I attack like a bolt of lightning, getting my first taste of hand to hand combat tonight. Using man number two as a tree, I run up his middle, flip to the side, and wrap my strong legs around the third assholes neck. With a quick twist, the man’s on the ground. I land on top of him and shove a knife through the center of his chest, piercing his heart. Hating he may not die fast enough, I twist to inflict worse damage. Then as quickly as I came, I pull his dead body on top of mine as another mist of bullet’s attack, hitting the carcass of their brother. A single bullet clips my shoulder; nothing more than a flesh wound. It stings like a bitch. When their magazines empty, I shove off the body and unleash the Mr. Myiagi within. An uppercut breaks one man’s nose as I roundhouse kick the other in the head, knocking him out cold. His body drops like a sack of potatoes. Sweeping two knives out of my jacket, Blade style, I ballet spin, and slit slit the standing man’s throat before he knows what’s hit him. Falling to his knees, I kick both of their weapons out of the way, then push my foot to the dying asshole’s shoulder. He topples to his back, and I straddle his chest. Our eyes meet as he fights to breathe. A feeble hand grabs at my jacket. His mouth opens and closes like a goldfish, blood seeping through the fingers around his throat. Out of respect, I rest my forehead on his. He coughs, body jerking violently, trying to feed his brain. Because I didn’t sever the carotid, death’s going to come slowly … painfully. I kiss his cheek.

“I’m sorry.” Brushing his weak fingers off my jacket, I hold his hand in mine, as I pull the tiny dagger from my boot with the other.

“Rest in peace,” I whisper, sinking the thin blade into his throat in rapid succession, so he doesn’t suffer. His eyelids close on their own. The body goes still. Life force paints the rocks red. Stripping him of his patch, I bow my head and touch my forehead, chest, and either shoulder in spiritual respect. Amen.

Bone deep exhaustion sets in as I climb off the corpse and end the final man’s life. Then perform the same ritual with him as I do with the bullet-riddled body of their fellow brother. His face is nothing more than ground beef. Bones exposed. Eye sockets gone. Intestines leaking out. Still, I pay my respect. Guess it’s a good thing I have an iron-clad stomach. When you’ve seen what I’ve seen, you don’t have any other choice.

Pushing off my knees to stand, I shake out my aching muscles, and remove my night vision headgear. I lay it gently on the ground beside me and swipe the back of my hand across my damp forehead. The cloud cover shifts, bathing the driveway in the dim moonlight. I sigh. God must be shining down upon us to bring his children to Heaven. It’s beautiful—peaceful.

The gravel shifts, and it’s not from me.

My heart thuds.

“Stop, or I’ll shoot,” a shaky voice orders from behind. Raising my weaponless hands in surrender, I slowly turn around. Rocks crackle underfoot.

“I said stop,” the boy squeaks, aiming a handgun at my chest. His hands are shaking badly. He’s not all that close, and I’d be willing to bet he couldn’t hit me if he tried. The kid can’t be any older than nineteen. The name patch on his chest reads Brook.

I’m not going to kill a teenager. That’s not in the job description.

“Listen, Brook. You need to leave. The rest of your brothers are dead,” I explain steadily.

“Y-you killed them!” The messy haired boy shakes the gun at me, tears leaking down his reddened cheeks. “You killed my dad!”

Whoops.

“I’m—”

An apology dies on my lips as a blur passes my line of sight. I blink, and when I refocus, there stands Kade behind Brook, two Bowie knifes sunk to the hilt in either side of the boy’s neck. The poor kid’s eyes widen in horror. Mouth opens in a silent scream. I can’t believe he killed him! He’s just an innocent child. Why would he do such a thing? Blood bubbles out of Brook’s mouth, and his body shudders. Not wanting the poor thing to die alone, I rush to him and gather his twitching fingers in mine. They try to hold on. But it’s no use. As soon as Kade removes those giant blades, he’s as good as gone.

“I’m sorry. Rest in Peace, Brook,” I whisper, emotions clogging my throat.

Kade takes this as his cue to remove the knives. Blood surges forth, pouring down the kid’s shoulders, coating his cut and patches. His eyes roll back into his skull as he slumps forward. Kade throws his weapons to the ground, blades sinking into the gravel, and catches the wilting child. Together, we lay him to his final resting place. Sighing like he’s unhappy with the kill, Kade sweeps his victim’s eyes closed as I relieve Brook of his name patch.

Emotionally spent, I drop to my ass on the driveway, knees up, head tilted back, staring at the starlit sky. It’s a gorgeous universe out there. “Why did you have to kill the kid?”

“We couldn’t let him live, Rosie. He had a gun trained on you. And I could tell you were getting tired,” Kade explains like he’s not fond of the outcome. At least he has a conscience. Mine bleeps in and out of existence.

“Have you been watching me?”

Kade cleans off his blades with a white bandana he pulls from his back pocket. “Yes. I wasn’t gonna stay inside just in case you needed my help.”

Strange. Because I didn’t hear him. And I hear everyone.

What if he saw my ritual? Nobody sees that. My brain rejects the prospect. That’s personal. Too personal.

“Did you…” I begin, needing to know.

“All of your secrets are safe with me, Rosie. You handled your own. There’s no need to say anything more. But we do need to leave. The clubhouse was also attacked. Pops called, said they were safe. But none of us can get ahold of Ryker. So I texted Gunz to get his location. His bike’s at Vanessa’s. But her car’s three miles away, accordin’ to the tracker, unless it got tossed. We gotta check it out.”

Truthfully, I don’t want to go anywhere. Especially not to check on a man who treats Kat like dog shit he scraped off the bottom of his boot. I have no love for Ryker. At first, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Then he left Katrina without a word. We all know why he did it. Aside from Kade. That doesn’t change the fact that he never kept in touch with her. Since then, I’ve had to deal with a mopey Katrina. And I don’t like it one bit. She’s a wonderful woman. The only person I’d call a true friend aside from Big, who pays me for our unique friendship. It was unexpected, I know. Befriending the woman I’ve sworn to protect at all cost, and did tonight. But I love her and her kids. Or I love her in the only way I know how. It isn’t much. Nevertheless, it’s far more than I’ve given to anyone since my world faded to black many years ago.

“I thought you were pissed at your brother,” I remind.

It was me who talked Kade into letting Ryker in the house earlier today. Kade went on a ride, so he didn’t kill his bro for showing up unexpectedly to speak to Katrina. There were some choice words exchanged, shoving, and enough testosterone fogging the air to raise my hackles. A little open road coercion seemed to do the trick. Kade hadn’t ridden on his Harley since last week. Good thing he did because that was his farewell ride with her. That beauty’s no longer recognizable after what those assholes did. It’s one thing to shoot up a man’s house. It’s the ultimate disrespect to trash his bike. They got what they deserved.

“I am pissed at Ryker. He’s playin’ games with my Watermelon Tits.”

“Your nicknames for each other are disturbing.”

Very. When I first heard them, I thought it was a joke.

“Yeah. Well. Your face is disturbing,” Kade returns like a five-year-old whose mama wouldn’t let him have a cookie before dinner.

“Lame,” I deadpan.

He kicks the rocks with the toe of his scuffed boots. Another adolescent move. “Fuck off. Are you gonna be my backup or not?” Kade snaps his knifes back into their sheaths and offers me a hand up.

Conceding, I grumble as we clasp forearms and he yanks me to my feet. Out of habit, I dust off my ass. I know, it’s not like I don’t already have twelve different DNAs on my clothes. As I said, habit. Nobody like’s a dusty bum.

Not waiting for Kade, I stride across the driveway to the tree line on the opposite side of the cabin where I hid my motorcycle from plain view. I parked it there for safekeeping since I haven’t ridden it in weeks.

“Where the hell are you headed?” Kade catches up and grabs my elbow to stop me on the spot.

I whip around, itching to unsheathe my knife to put him in his place. “What?”

“I asked where you’re headed.” His hand falls to the wayside as if my arm burned him. I pay it no mind.

“Considering your bike’s trashed, the Suburban isn’t drivable, and I don’t think you wanna try to find those fuckers rides in the dead of the night, our only option is to take my bike.”

“Your Ducati?” He’s unsure, swaying from foot to foot.

Huffing in irritation, I turn around and stride faster to my motorcycle. This time Kade doesn’t try to stop me. His long legs eat up the distance at a leisurely pace. Sometimes, it sucks being vertically challenged.

Fishing my keys out of my pocket, I approach my sleek black Ducati, dust off the seat, and straddle the pussy purring bad boy. I slap the space behind me. It’s not much. But Kade’s delectable ass can fit on there just fine. “You’re ridin’ bitch.”

Crossing his arms like his brother always does, Kade shakes his head defiantly. “Like hell I am.”

I fire the ignition, flip on the headlight, and heel up my kickstand. Walking the bike backward to the driveway, I give Kade a chance to let reality set in. Nobody drives my motorcycle except me. There’s no ifs ands or butts about it.

Revving the engine a few times to wake her up, I re-slap the spot behind my ass. “You comin’ or what?”

“I’m not ridin’ bitch,” Kade growls. As if that’s gonna scare me. Please. I’ve met bigger badasses than him in my life. If Big Dick doesn’t intimidate me, nobody can.

“You are if you A, don’t wanna sound like a sexist pig, and, B, wanna check on that signal. So you best pull up your frilly girl panties and get on the back of my bike. Or you can walk your stubborn ass there. If ya start now, you can make it in half an hour. Tick tock.” I two-finger tap my imaginary wrist watch, knowing damn well I hold all the cards.

Kade throws his hands up and flips me a double bird. “Fuck! You’re a bitch.”

Tsking the errant man-child, I pat the space behind my butt again. “Yep.” No use in denying it. “Are you comin’ or what?”

Cursing up a storm, upper lip curled in a snarl, Kade smoothly mounts my bike. The backend bounces beneath the added weight, and I adjust my stance to keep us upright.

“Wrap your arms around my waist, fat ass. Or risk fallin’ off,” I call over my shoulder.

Kade complains but follows my instructions. His hands cup either side of my stomach. Barely touching, but enough to know he’s secure. His feet rest on the fold down pegs. If you were to take a picture, he’d look utterly ridiculous. Bet his club brothers would pay good money to see this. “I dunno who you’re callin’ a fat ass. But are you gonna put on a helmet?” he grumbles.

“Nope.”

“You should.”

I know I should, but my helmet’s in the cabin, and we don’t have time to grab it. I’ll be fine.

“And you should mind your own damn business.”

I sling attitude, knowing what it’ll do. Next stop Bonerville. Kade’s a walking, talking, erection. When I first met him, I figured it was a freak accident that he got hard. However, when I catch him readjusting a python in his pants more times than not in my presence, I’ve come to the conclusion he has a unique case of priapism. If I was interested in jumping his bones, I might be flattered. But I’m not.

“It’s not safe,” he argues.

It’s almost sweet that he cares. Almost. Not quite.

“Neither is fighting three men at once.”

Having stolen the last word, I click into first gear and gun it out of the driveway, kicking up gravel and dust. My back wheel fishtails as we enter the paved road and I straighten her out without fail. This is the first time I’ve had anyone ride bitch on my Ducati. It definitely maneuvers differently with the added weight, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.

Kade’s fingers drum against my sides as the cold air whips our faces. The fresh scent of mother earth invigorates me as the throbbing in my shoulder intensifies. I probably should’ve inspected the damage before we left. Granted, there’s no blood running down my arm so it must not be too bad. I can stitch it up later. It’s not my first bullet wound, and won’t be the last.

Through each BFE twist and turn, Kade taps my side, and I follow his silent instructions until the flash of headlights stare back at us from the wrong side of the road. Hell. They’re not even on the road. They’re in the ditch. Speeding up, my adrenaline spiking to new heights, I skid us to a jarring halt at the edge of a field. The rear tire leaves the asphalt for a second, tipping us forward. Kade’s broad chest meets my back in a rush, knocking the air from my lungs. My stomach heaves. To keep from face planting, I lock my arms and ride the rollercoaster of death. Half a second later, we relevel out. Gasping, I draw a fresh batch of oxygen into my lungs. What a rush.

“Damn. That was crazy,” I comment, planting my feet on the ground, balancing the beast. Straight ahead, on the edge of a field, is Vanessa’s crumpled car. Its high beams bathing us in their light. This doesn’t look good.

Shutting off the engine, Kade dismounts the rear of the bike and sets off in a dead sprint, yelling his brother’s name. “Ryker! Do you hear me?!”

No response.

Shit!

Leaving the keys in the ignition, I get my ass in gear. Dismounting in a blur, I eat up the uneven ground with each push of my short legs. My heart hammers against my breastbone, as a cold sweat dampens my forehead, a prize left for my beanie to collect. We both skid to a stop at the mangled car before us. The windows are shattered. Front-end crushed. The hood dented in various spots. From the looks of the tilled up dirt, they flipped multiple times.

Kade whips out his cell and dials 911.

“Do you want me to check for life?” I ask as he frantically rattles off information to the dispatcher. If someone’s alive in there, it’s gonna take too long for the paramedics to get here to save anyone. We’re fifteen minutes or longer from town.

Kade doesn’t answer, he’s too busy handling the call, so I approach the wreck, not wasting any time. The thick scent of gasoline infusing the air is enough to choke a mule. The airbags have deployed, but neither of them are inflated any longer. When did this happen? How long have they been out here?

“Is anyone awake?!” I yell.

Nothing.

Not a good sign.

Upon closer inspection, there’s tiny bullet holes riddling the metal frame. That explains why the passenger side door’s concave like it’s been t-boned. This was a deliberate hit. Should’ve guessed. Those bastards attacked us from all angles tonight. This was a well-planned fight. One they didn’t plan on losing. Too bad they did.

Careful not to step on any metal bits that could pierce through my boot, I approach the passenger window. Oh my god. Jerking my face to the side, I wince at the gruesome sight. Vanessa’s brain’s exposed, her nose flattened to a pancake. There’s blood everywhere. The metallic scent of death dances with the stench of gasoline. It’s vile enough to make me want to wretch. Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I reach inside and press a finger to her throat. Her pulse is weak. Barely a flutter. Upon skin stimulation, she suddenly gasps for air, blood varnishing her lips. There’s a bullet hole in her shoulder. A river of red streams down her arm. There’s no way she’ll survive this. She’s basically brain dead with half her cranium missing. There’s no way to staunch the bleeding, so I sprint to the driver’s side and check on Ryker. He’s out cold. Chin on chest, eyes shut. There’s more blood. Too much blood soaking through his clothes coming from somewhere. Using the light from my phone, I check his pinned legs and, sure enough, there’s a bone poking through the fabric of his pants. Compound fracture. A nasty one.

“A-are they dead?” Kade’s voice waivers as he approaches. “Is my brother dead? The ambulance is on the way.”

Ryker draws a raspy breath. Still alive. I check his pulse, and it, too, is weak, but stronger than Vanessa’s.

“Not yet, they’re not. We need to stop your brother from bleeding out.”

Removing my belt, I press it to Kade’s chest, and try to yank open the crumpled driver’s side door. It doesn’t budge. Kade tries, too, and ends with the same result.

“Fuck! He better not die!” he booms, brushing the remnants of glass from the window. Leaning through the open space, he tries to work on his brother. There’s no room left for me to assist. He’s gonna have to handle that on his own.

“You good?” I ask, watching Kade rip his brother’s long sleeve shirt off his right arm.

“He’s got three bullet holes in his fuckin’ bicep.” Kade tourniquets his brother’s arm with my belt. “There’s another in his thigh and his shoulder. Jesus. They left him for dead.”

That’s the whole point, I want to say, but figure that’s not helpful. Neither is standing around here twiddling my thumbs.

Vanessa gasps another short breath, drawing my attention to her. I count to ten, and when she doesn’t breathe again, I know she’s on her way to Heaven. If the paramedics don’t make it here soon enough, her baby is gonna die along with her, and nobody wants that. Unless the baby’s already dead, but there’s no way to know without checking.

Fuck it.

What’s left to lose?

Shrugging out of my jacket, I drop it to the ground along with most of my weapons. There’s no way I can get her door open. It’s mashed shut from the impact. So I climb in through the back passenger window instead, mindful not to cut myself on glass in the process.

“What the hell are you doing, Rosie?” Kade growls, working on his brother. “Get out of the car.”

“No. I’m gonna deliver this baby.”

“You can’t do that.”

Ignoring him, I crawl across the back seat to give myself space and click on the top light. At least the car battery is still intact. God must be watching.

“I can. Or the baby will die,” I respond, grabbing the headrest of Vanessa’s seat and exerting all my strength to shove it backward. It takes three good tries before the mechanism breaks and her chair reclines fully, giving me room to perform the C-section. She hasn’t taken a breath in thirty-five seconds. Any longer and her baby will be brain dead along with its mother.

Unsheathing my boot dagger, I lean over Vanessa’s bloodied form, trying not to lay on her out of respect, but this isn’t the ideal place to deliver a child.

Using my knife, I cut through Vanessa’s white shirt that’s soaked in life force, and expose her round belly. A reverse C-section better work. I’ve never delivered a baby in my entire life. Guess there’s a first for everything. Palpating her abdomen so I know I’m cutting in the right spot, I pierce the top layer of skin, careful to cut tiny bits at a time, not wanting to plunge too deep at once. Thankfully, there’s little fat to cut through. When I reach the uterus, I nick it, then rest my dagger on Vanessa’s thigh. Hooking my fingers inside the opening, I rip the skin apart. It’s not as easy as it seems.

“Dammit. Come on.”

I grunt and groan until I’ve gotten a big enough hole for a baby to come out of. All that’s left between the kid and me is a fully intact amniotic sac. It’s a miracle her water didn’t break during the crash. Pushing the baby down as far as I can with one hand, I use my other to puncture the sac. Fluid erupts out of the hole as it breaks. I’m met with a foot. Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.

Reaching into the warm, wet cavity of Vanessa’s body, I gently wrap both hands around the baby’s chest and pull it free from its mother. Bringing the miniature, vernix coated bundle to my chest, umbilical cord still attached, I pat its back as I sit on the glass covered seat, not giving two fucks if it slices through my pants.

“Come on, little one. Come on.” I coax the dark-haired preemie to breathe whilst keeping it warm. Its body wiggles, curling into itself to retain body heat. At least the baby’s alive. Thank you, Jesus.

“Is he okay?” Kade asks in awe, briefly meeting my eyes through the shattered window, blood coating his hands. There’s a red streak across his stubbly cheek that wasn’t there earlier.

“I dunno.” Jostling the bundle, I attempt to work a cry out of its lungs. Another pat on the baby’s bottom and a faint sob finally breaks the surface.

Dropping my head back against the cushion, I sigh in relief.

Sirens blare in the distance.

I don’t think that sound has ever sounded so sweet.

“He needs body heat, Rosie. Put him under your shirt, against your body,” Kade instructs, leaning back into the driver’s window to check on his brother.

Lifting my shirt to my throat, not caring about my scars showing, I do as I’m told, and lay the bundle skin on skin. The little one ejects another miniature sob, pinking its skin up. A new wave of potent relief washes over me.

“Why’d you call him a him?” I massage the baby’s tiny back, drawing more beautiful cries from its lungs, each one louder than the next.

“Because I saw his nuts.”

“Ryker has a son.”

“Yes. Ryker has a son. Now he has to live long enough to see him. He’s not gonna last much longer, Rosie. He’s been shot at least five times, and I think his lung collapsed. I stuffed most of the wounds with cloth, but that’s not helping much. Ryker, if you can hear me, do not walk into the light, you fucker. You’ve got a big balled son to live for. Rosie’s holding him right now. Your little Tiger and daughters need you. Do not walk into the light. The boatman doesn’t need you. Tell God to go fuck himself,” Kade encourages like it might help. Who am I to say otherwise?

The sound of sirens draw closer, lights flashing brightly up the road. Not much longer.

Wrapping my arms around the boy, I close my eyes and send up a silent prayer to the Almighty above.

Dear God, if you’re listening tonight, please don’t take Ryker from Katrina. He might be an asshole, but he’s her asshole. She doesn’t deserve this. Amen.

Three seconds later, Kade bellows a heart wrenching “Fuck,” as the ambulance and firetruck pull up alongside the road, and four men jump out. “No!” he wails. “You can’t die. You can’t leave them! Breathe, you stubborn bastard.” From the window of the car, Kade begins to perform CPR on his dying brother. So much for answered prayers. Heaven’s about to gain another angel tonight. I dunno why I thought God would listen now. He never has before.

I’m so sorry, Katrina. I’m so sorry I failed you.

“Ryker!” Kade screams in agony as he fights the two paramedics who pull him from the window.

Peeling my sweat-soaked beanie off and tossing it on the floor, I kiss the baby boy’s head full of dark hair. “Happy birthday, little one. We’re gonna take good care of you, no matter what.”

The End… for now…

Note from Author

Dear Readers,

I want to say thank you from the bottom of my pink squishy heart. Thank you for reading my stories. Thank you for your endless patience with me. Thank you for posting reviews. Thank you for following me on social media. And for some of you, thank you for being a Sacred Sister. Y’all mean a lot to me. Whether you want to believe it or not, I look forward to hearing from my readers on a daily basis. They’re amazing individuals that lend a shoulder to cry on—a helping hand when needed. They’ve encouraged me to move forward over the past year of my life, since the accident stole my desire to write. That’s why this book took so long to finish. And, ultimately, why it has now turned into a trilogy instead of a duet as expected. I didn’t want to skimp on the book. I wanted to give more details than ever, pour in more love, because you, my reader, deserve it. As does Katrina, who’s become my new favorite heroine to write. She’s the ultimate woman that I believe all of us can relate to in one way or another.

Again, thank you for reading Hopeful Whispers. I know the ending wasn’t ideal. But it’s one I’ve had planned for quite some time. Don’t worry. I won’t take another year to release the final book.

Peace,

Bink

P.S. Please consider posting a review on Amazon.

P.S.S. Thank you Rea D, Laura H, and Megan S for allowing your names to be apart of this book! I’m thrilled to add you!

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Other Works by Bink Cummings:

MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings Vol 1 (FREE)

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MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings Vol 2

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MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings Vol 3

US Amazon Link: http://amzn.to/2cW6Tyw

MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings Vol 4

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Beyond Her Words

(In Ebook and Audio)

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Beyond Christmas

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Nowhere

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Hopelessly Shattered

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His Boy

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His Master

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Master’s Vlogger

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The Diary of Bink Cummings

Volume 1

MC Chronicles

(The entire series is out now.)

Chapter One

Monday, September 2, 2013

Today’s the day I start writing to you, and let’s just hope I can do at least this right. My birthday was last week. Last week I turned thirty; last week my life changed into another decade. A decade I swear that I’m going to do better. Considering I spent my entire 20’s bed-hopping from one bad boy loser to the next and never having a damn thing to show for it. No ring, no happiness, a big fat nada. Except maybe the extra ten pounds I’ve gained since high school. Ok, I realize you are probably rolling your eyes at me right now. Yes, ten whole pounds. All of it created by stress eating mass quantities of chocolate and all of it ending up in two places, T&A—need I say more?

Now… When I stare at myself in the mirror, I see boobs. Boobs is all I see. Or how my mom so delicately puts it, I’m ‘One Big Tit.’ A medium sized woman with boobs too big for her body. I’ve considered having them lopped off a time or two, but then where would my sporadic nipple orgasms go? I can’t jeopardize those, not when they make my toes curl and I’m clawing at whatever man is sucking them, nearly suffocating him in these giant bad boys. I’m a size six. Don’t hate me, I can’t help it. And if I gain weight, I fear I might topple over as my breasts will undoubtedly get larger, they always do. I have a hard enough time buying bras at it is. A size 34 DDD, yes, I said it… Three D’s…I’m not stuttering.

My hair…it’s always been the same color, different styles, and lengths, but I refuse to dye it. It’s blonde, Goldilocks blonde, and it’s short, at least for now. I wear it close to my jaw now; I chopped off the majority of it after my last loser boyfriend and I broke up. My eyes are blue…Why the hell am I’m spouting this shit to you? No damn clue…but I’m at a loss of what to say or what the hell I’m supposed to even write… Just deal? Will ya? Oh, sweet Jesus, I’m talking to a diary now. Pathetic, huh? Yup, I’ve stooped to an all-time low. Okay, maybe not low-low, but low enough that I am sitting here in my living room, my laptop in my lap, the TV is on with some infomercial, and it’s five a.m. I am due to my second week of work at eight, and I can’t sleep. I can hardly ever sleep. A few hours here or there, and I’m lucky if I get that.

Glancing up from my computer screen, I scan my apartment with my eyes, taking in my life. Trying, in some way, to fathom how I’ve gotten nowhere fast. Landing my eyes across the room on the full bookshelf is the entire reason my life has been this way. Why I am the way I am. A picture of my parents rests there in an ornate silver frame, their eyes staring knowingly at me. Like they can see my deepest, darkest secrets, or some shit.

I guess, since I’m sitting here, staring, and reminiscing…and I don’t see any shuteye in my near future, I’ll explain a little more about myself. Since eye color really isn’t of any importance.

My name is Eva, or that’s what’s on my birth certificate. I can’t remember the last time anyone has ever called me that. To everyone else in the world, to all my family, and friends, I’m Bink, Bink Cummings. The daughter of Rodney ‘Steel’ Cummings. Who goes by Steel or Daddy, when I speak to or about him. My father is and has always been a badass, no-nonsense man, who just so happens to be the VP of the Motorcycle Club, Sacred Sinners. That’s how I grew up, surrounded by men in leather, drinking beer or liquor, fucking whores and bitches in front of me, smoking God knows what, and cussing so much it would make your grandma’s grandma blush. Those same men ride hogs; that’s what we call motorcycles, not those prissy bitchass crotch rockets made of plastic for men who have less balls than I do. No, big metal machines that make your pussy clench when you ride on one. And yes, I own my own little slice of heavy rumbling metal that I hold between my thighs and have to think of anything else than the orgasm that always consumes me when I’m on Black Betty, my pink and black vintage Harley. She was a gift from my daddy and his club Prez, Big Dick, when I graduated college a few years back with a bachelor’s degree in business management.

I’m a third generation biker. Both of my parents’ parents were in the Sacred Sinners. Pap-pap still is, going on eighty and still rides his Harley and hangs around the club on occasion. My mom’s folks passed on before I was born. My mom’s nine years older than my dad and had already considered him hers once he turned fourteen. Kind of gross when you think about it. A twenty-three-year-old broad getting wet for some kid. That’s my parents, though. Happy as ever, in love, and perfect for each other. Although I must admit, I’m not my mother’s biggest fan, nor my two sisters, for that matter. Yeah, there’s a whole damn litter of us. Two boys, three girls. Guess where I fit into all of this? The middle. I’m the middle child, the black sheep. My sisters both married off and moved away; both of them despise the MC and married some metro-sexual motherfuckers with tiny cocks and fat wallets. My brothers fell in line right behind my father—leather, bitches, hogs, and the whole gambit. I’m a strange mixture of both worlds.

Glancing up again from my computer, I catch a glimpse of Pretzel’s tail awakening.

“I know you’re up,” I tell him, and that whip of a tail goes wild as he rolls to his side, his eyes landing right on me. Yup, I’m a sucker for those puppy dog eyes. I love this damn dog. Got Pretzel almost two years ago, after another one of the club’s pit bull bitches had a litter and he came out the runt. Big Dick sold a few of the pups and when all was left was Pretzel and the two other dogs they were going to train, he’d pulled me to the side one evening at the club.

“Hey, Bink,” he’d boomed over the crowd, with a jerk of his chin, alerting me that he wanted to talk. The club was packed as usual. Which meant half-naked club whores, zero old ladies, and all the leather clad bikers that were patched into the club or prospects who wanted to join. I just happened to be dropping by to deliver some cookies I had baked for the men to munch on and was ready to leave. Once you’ve watched dozens upon dozens of men in your life, literally take a bitch over the bar, a chair, or wall in front of you or force a whore to suck his dick, you kind of become numb to it. Once you’ve seen one dick, you’ve seen them all. Well…sort of. You catch my drift.

As I approached Big Dick, his smile widened, and the whore between his legs kept up her desperate and failed attempt to fit his cock in her mouth. Pitiful sight. I knew he loved every single time a woman attempted the impossible. I’d heard as much over the years.

“I have a runt.”

My eyes narrowed, trying to understand what the hell he was even talking about.

“Huh?”

“Punta’s runt, nobody bought ‘em. Can’t keep ‘em. He goes to ground or you find him a place to rest his tiny head.”

This wasn’t the first time a runt hadn’t been bought, but it was the first time I’d ever been offered one.

“Big, you know I can’t afford one of your dogs.”

He shook his head, his long dark brown hair that was tied back with a rubber band swayed slightly. “He’s yours if you want him. He’s a cute pup—”

I grinned and had to hide my need to laugh when he said the word ‘cute.’ It just didn’t suit coming from the lips of a man who was properly road named Big Dick, who also happened to be approximately six feet eight inches tall, and pushing three hundred pounds of tight, hard muscle, with tattoos that littered his scarred, tanned flesh.

“What?” He stopped his sentence, realizing my expression had changed.

I shook my head, dismissing my need to laugh. He’d probably go off the hinges if I had even chuckled at him.

A growl, a deep, murderous, Hellhound growl snarled from his lips and my eyes went wide. Fuck! He was scary when he got like that.

“Tell me, Bink.”

I bit my lip, as he ordered again, more agitated this time. “Tell me, Bink.” His giant hand went to the whore between his legs, who was still trying to suck his fat cock. Gripping her hair, he yanked her off his erection, and I about fainted. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. I had heard about his dick. It was a legend. I just hadn’t seen it in person. As the whore, who I recognized as a newbie, fell back onto her ass, he grabbed between his legs and stroked his length. Holy. Hell. I went light-headed as all the blood rushed out of my brain and landed firmly between my thighs, instantly making me wetter than I had ever been.

“You can’t suck my dick for shit, whore. Get out of my sight.” He sneered at her in palpable disgust and she shrank away, mortified. Straight into the crowd of leather, sex, booze, and loud rock music she went.

“Now, tell me.”

I couldn’t have kept up my brush off any longer, not if I wanted to stay in the good graces of the club Prez.

“It’s nothing—” I stopped talking, and even though I didn’t want to, I looked at it again. The giant baseball bat between his legs was still being stroked as he grinned at me. The singular dimple on his face wound me tighter than an eight-day clock, and I knew if I didn’t leave soon, my pussy juices were going to start to run down my legs. I was that turned on.

Using his thumb, still giving me that grin, which showed he was rough, beautiful, and naughty as hell, he swirled the pre-come on the head of his monster cock and pinched the head between his fingers. Shhhiiitttt, it was sexy.

“Want me to take care of that, baby?” another club whore singsonged, coming to stand beside me, and my stomach rolled. I wanted to puke. This one was naked and chubby, unlike the other who was also naked but skinny as hell. I hated that I was in the middle of this. I’d spent my adult years trying to avoid situations that included club whores.

The expression on Big Dick’s face was one of pure aggression and lust, as his lips curled over his teeth, and he not only growled at her, he nearly ate her alive with just a look. A look of pure evil, wrapped with sinister thoughts of slow, agonizing murder.

The chubby brunette didn’t even stand there a moment longer before she broke into a sob and ran full speed, away from him.

“Two, Big Dick, two fuckin’ whores tonight are gone. How much more ass am I gonna lose tonight before you cool the fuck off, man?” a member I recognized as Runner said, standing against the wall a few feet away, two bitches on their knees playing with his less than impressive cock.

“Out!” Big Dick snapped, pointing his free hand toward the front doors of the clubhouse.

Runner shook his head, exasperated, “Fine,” his words were clipped, eyes narrowed into tiny slits as he took the women by the arms and escorted them, along with himself, out the door. Both of the girls giggling like teenagers the whole way. Shit, who was I kidding, they probably were teenagers. I just didn’t care to notice or ask. Wasn’t my problem.

“Alright, now that that’s done.” Big Dick sighed, leaning back in his leather armchair. He was half-naked, his head reclined against the top.

“I didn’t want to laugh, but when you said the word cute, it doesn’t suit you,” I spit out fast, using all my air and quickly sucking a nervous breath.

“Cute?”

There it went again, a deep, gravelly voice like his and that word. I covered my mouth.

“Cute?”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried desperately to hold back my impending laughter.

“Cute?”

A giggle snuck out, and he growled, again, like a beastly animal. I opened my eyes to see him ferociously fucking his own fist, his own eyes locked on me. His dick jerked. I saw it fucking jerk, and I couldn’t help but stare as my breathing kicked up. I nearly exploded on the spot.

Nine inches of thick man meat was being stroked directly in front of me, and I just stood there in a room full of bikers and watched. In awe, I might add. The first jet that shot from his dick arced high and landed on the floor by my feet. Each spurt shot, one right after the other, six in total, and they all were beautiful. Yep, I said beautiful. I’ve never, to this day, seen a man come that hard, that completely…that deliciously. I’ve slept with men, lots, and lots of men. Not once have they come so purely. That’s the perfect word to describe that night, that first and only night he came in front of me. Beautifully pure.

Swiping off the last bead of come from his dripping head with his T-shirt, he sighed, stood up, towering well over a foot above me and slid his leathers up his legs, buttoning and zipping them. Running his thumb across my chin, he winked at me, and I melted at his touch. Twenty years older than me, still gorgeous and utterly untouchable, not like I’ve ever wanted to touch. Well, nothing other than maybe his cock. Which I’ve dreamt about ever since that night. The night that Pretzel became my dog.

Big Dick stepped past me. I was frozen in shock, and ready to come on a moment’s notice, trying desperately to reel in what had just taken place. He’d jerked off in front of me. Looking at me. It didn’t compute.

“Yo, Bink, dog, yeah?”

I nodded and turned to see him staring casually at me like nothing happened. His normal half smirk, half smile, played on his handsomely rugged face.

“Yeah.” I anxiously swallowed and followed him out the front doors of the clubhouse and to the back of the property in the middle of the night, where they housed the high-class kennels. Not only does my father’s club deal in the shit most clubs do, but they also deal in purebred pits, rotties, and dobies. They don’t fight themselves, but I know that has to be part of what these expensive dogs are used for. They train them to be guard dogs and sell them at high prices. Thousands of dollars, to be exact.

“Here.” He pointed into a dimly lit kennel, where a lonesome dog lay curled into himself. His head lifted just slightly once he noticed people standing outside of his door, and as soon as those adorable eyes of his, one blue and one brown, gazed up into mine, I was a goner.

“I’ll take him,” I whispered. And two weeks later, Pretzel, the only male I’ve ever loved other than my daddy and the brothers, came home to live with me.

Glancing down at the corner of my computer screen I check the time…it’s shower time. Then I’m off to work.

I kiss Pretzel goodbye before I leave; he can come and go as he pleases all day. I have a doggy door that goes out to my back patio and a small fenced-in yard. My apartment may be small, but it does come with a killer outdoor space, great for cookouts and sunbathing. Not that I do either of those things. The sight of me in a bathing suit is disgusting.

It’s week two here at work, sitting at the main desk at the front of RJD Specialists, who are Pulmonologist and Thoracic Oncologists. In layman’s terms, lung doctors or in this case, ones who work with cancer patients, too. It’s a quaint office - three nurses, three doctors, and me. Did I mention that all three doctors are gorgeous hotties? Not that I’d tell anyone but you that little fact. But they are, and they seem fairly nice. None of them are married; I think one has a girlfriend, not sure, though, and all three of them are best friends. They met in college or working at a hospital or something like that. I’m new. I don’t know much, other than Kelsie, the young 20-something nurse, is also the office gossip queen. There is also Johanna, the sweet, rotund, mid-30’s nurse who dislikes Kelsie. And Kendrick, our only male nurse, who is gayer than Richard Simmons doing a duet with Elton John in a bathhouse, and I love him! He’s hilarious and flirty and being around a group of big nasty bikers all the time, makes Kendrick the breath of fresh rosy air in my life.

“How’s my favorite blonde?” Kendrick asked me as soon as I strolled into the office this morning, clad in my business casual clothes, headed to the bathroom to fix my hair and makeup. I rode Black Betty this morning, and it’s impossible to stay pristine when riding on a Harley and having two orgasms on my way to work. When I say I burst at the seams and even moan when I’m straddling my beautiful bike, it’s not a joke. I orgasm, hard, every damn time, and I love it.

“Great.” I smiled at him once I hit the bathroom. He stood, leaning in the doorway watching me reapply my lip gloss and give myself the once over in the mirror above the sink.

“You do know that working here doesn’t mean you have to come in so early,” he said.

“I want to make a good impression.”

Kendrick shrugged, pushing himself off the door frame. “Alright, but if you get to fuck any of our bosses, I better be the first to know.”

About having a heart attack at his bluntness, I coughed, choking on my spit. “What?” I croaked.

“Oh… Puh-lease.” His eyes rolled exaggeratedly into the back of his skull. “As if you didn’t know.”

Know what? Huh?

“What?” I turned around and headed for the door.

Just then my cell phone vibrated in my pocket and I tugged it from my black dress pants.

“We’ll discuss it later.” He left me to my phone and provided me with a too-da-loo, prissy finger wave, as he walked away in his scrubs and bright white crocs.

Jizz: Steel, Brew, me, and some of the boys are headed on a run for two weeks. You gonna be chill? Need you to stop by the club, family gatherin’ coming up this weeken’. Do your bro a solid and do what you best. Oh… And follow the rules, Steel said.

Uh!!!!! I screamed in my head.

Could my brother be any more of a barbaric moron? And to think he’s three years younger than me. Follow the rules? Please. I always follow the rules. Have since I was a kid. I’ve never had sex with a brother. Not even once. Loser, wannabe bikers? Yes, lots of them, actually. But brothers in the club? Nope. My daddy, Gunz, or Big Dick would murder them on site. Since I was little, my daddy always told me he wanted more for me and my sisters. Well, those bitches I call sisters, they got out. I, however, wanted to stay and be a part the club that I grew up running around in. Where the man Big Dick carried me on his shoulders like a prized doll at all the family gatherings, since he’s never had any children himself. Or where Gunz would always have a special sucker stashed away in his cut for me. Sure, there was sex, drugs, alcohol, bitches, and all that in between. It was my life, and I loved it. Even the big gaping flaws.

“How’s your second week coming along?” Doctor Jagger asks, tugging me from my thoughts, with his calculated voice, standing opposite the counter in his usual pressed Dockers and long sleeved dress shirt. It’s September and it’s hot outside, and still he’s in a long sleeved shirt. Odd…

“It’s going well.” I try to appear as refined as I can.

“I saw you reformatted the scheduling system and files.”

“Is that okay?” I raise an apprehensive brow.

A smirk is all he offers me in retort.

“Hello, Ms. Cummings,” Doc Dane says, coming into my line of sight and standing beside his business partner and friend.

I curtly nod in his direction. “Afternoon, Doctor Dane.”

“Please call me Lawrence.”

When you spend your entire life calling people, Big Dick, Jizz, Brew, or Gunz, calling someone Lawrence, a normal name, becomes a foreign concept. But one I willingly take in, accepting this crisp, fresh air of normalcy.

“Thank you, Lawrence, and please call me Bink or Eva. Whichever you prefer.”

The dazzling, toothy smile he produces warms my skin, as a shot of pleasure shoots straight to my loins. “Which do you like better?” he asks.

Unable to look at him any longer without the slight flush of my cheeks becoming apparent. I look down. I’ve never allowed anyone to willingly call me Eva before. I don’t even like the name.

“Bink, I prefer Bink,” I express, speaking to my hands, not his face.

“Well, Bink it is then.” I hear the slightest fraction of amusement cloaking his tone.

My phone sitting next to me on the desk buzzes again, and I ignore it as I look up to see both of my bosses blatantly staring at me.

Do I have something on my face?

Swiping my hand across my mouth and cheeks, I feel nothing but the burn on them, as both of my boss’s stare, one set of deep ocean blue eyes wrapped in thick black lashes, and the other set a tawny honey color. Not knowing what to say or do, I stare right back at them and sink my teeth into my bottom lip, nervousness taking up residency in my stomach. My foot starts to shake.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” The hardened tone from the only other male doctor in the office echoes. I see him once he enters into my line of sight, openly sneering at his colleagues.

“She is our bookkeeper, receptionist, and all of that. You can’t—” He continues walking toward the exit.

Can’t what?

“Says the man who hired her.” Doctor Jagger squints in frustration at Doctor Roman, the tallest of the three of them, who’s also the thinnest.

Doctor Roman shrugs. “She was the most qualified.”

Grunts and grumbles from all three of them permeate the air as they turn their attention away from me and head toward the exit. They stop at the door and all three simultaneously turn around, locking eyes with me from across the room.

“Lock up when you leave, and don’t come in until ten tomorrow,” Doc Jagger states, running a hand across the side of his neatly gelled hair.

“Ten, got it.” I jerk my head in an awkward nodding motion.

It’s not even closing time, and they are leaving for the day. What am I supposed to do?

They all offer me a wave and handsome smiles as they depart. As soon as the office door comes to a full close, I let out the breath I was holding. Could that have been any more awkward?

“And so it begins.” Kendrick makes a sudden appearance next to me with a sly smile.

“Meaning?”

“You’re in deep.”

“Deep with what?” I wrinkle my nose in confusion, pleading with my eyes for him to give up the goods and just tell me what he means.

Chuckling and shaking his head, he pats my shoulder and walks away.

Deep with what? What is he talking about? I’m not stupid; they probably want to bang me. You can’t be a biker chick and not have men tryin’ to bang your brains out around every damn corner.

Having completed my tasks for the day, I retrieve my phone and check my messages.

Jizz: You didn’t text back. You gonna be chill or not, Bink?

Me: I’m always chill, do what you gotta do. I’ll do my job.

My job meaning I’ll cook. I always cook. What does it matter if they are home or not? Who else is going to do it? Them? Not even my mother cooks for the club’s family gatherings. It’s me, Dixie, and Niki. Both of which are lifer club whores with zero need to be old ladies to any man. They are only allowed to help when children aren’t present. Then you’ve got Candy Cane and Debbie, who are old ladies, and both of them help, too. We all pile into the giant restaurant-equipped kitchen inside the clubhouse and cook up a shit storm to feed our giant family of hungry bikers and their women and children. What do I get out of it? Nothing. It’s just part of the job description. I’m glad to do it. Plus, most of the club regulars respect me. Note: I said most.

My phone buzzes again.

Big: Hey, little shit, somebody found Pretzel makin’ a break for it. Got a call and he’s at the club now. If you want him, come and claim him. If not, I’m keeping the cute fucker.

Cute. That word and Big still don’t mesh. I chuckle, shaking my head, amused.

Me: Thanks, Big, I’ll be right over. Getting off work now. Is that alright? Or am I not allowed over because it’s not visiting hours.

Big: Are you fuckin with me?

Me: Is that a trick question?

Is it bad that I’m texting him and the whole time that I am, I’m picturing that big dick of his? That’s awful, isn’t it? How awful? It seems downright dirty. I’ve only seen it once, and it’s forever imprinted in my brain. This is the same man who, when I was a tiny kid of like five and my dad, his VP, was out on a run, would sit on the couch in the common room and read me Rainbow Brite and Care Bear stories. The same man who knows how much I love Italian Ices, which he keeps the clubhouse fridge permanently stocked with. Okay, he doesn’t, but he has someone do it.

Big: Visiting hours is to limit club whores and old ladies from bein’ here. You either of those?

Me: No. Couldn’t be if I wanted.

Big: Damn fuckin’ straight you ain’t. You’re too good for this shit. Now come get ‘em, or I’m going to lock the doors and your ass is shit outta luck.

Me: The club? Not your house… Right?

Big: Shut your trap and get on that hog I know you’ve got parked out front of your new job. Then get your ass here.

Me: How’s he gonna get home on my bike?

Big: I’ll worry about it. Just get your fuckin’ dog.

Sheesh! Alright!

Already walking out of the office building, I lock up, walk outside, and there standing next to Black Betty is that giant motherfucker and Pretzel, on a leash, sprawled out on the pavement next to him.

I toss my arms over my chest and give him the stink eye.

Come to the club? He’s already here.

“So this is the club now?” I sarcastically raise a brow in question.

“Do you want the fucker or not?” He flicks his gaze down to my pup and back up to me.

“What happened?” I ask, walking toward them and my bike. Upon closer inspection, I see Big is dirty as hell; his hands are caked with mud, his face dusted in dirt and sweat. The white t-shirt under his cut is one hot mess, as are the worn jeans hugging his thick thighs and the shit-kickers he’s sportin’ on his feet.

“I got a call from your neighbor that he’d dug under that damn fence, which I kept tellin’ Steel to fix so this didn’t happen. Now, this little shit…” He glares down at Pretzel, and I almost feel sorry for him. Big Dick is frightening; I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that menacing ice-blue glare. “He was on his way under the fence when I got there. Got to him before he could run.”

“Why are you so dirty?” I rake my gaze the length of his massive stature, skipping over the crotch portion of his pants. God knows it has its own zip code.

“I got tired of waitin’ on your fuckin’ old man to do this job, so I took care of it. There won’t be any problems with this little runt diggin’ out again.”

The satisfied look on his face says he’s rather proud of himself. If he was at my house, why didn’t he just leave my dog at home? That makes zero sense. But I’m not asking any more questions.

“Thank you.” I blurt sincerely.

He sharply nods once, accepting my gratitude.

“Wait.” I place my purse into my saddlebag and turn to my dog, where I kneel and stroke one hand down his back. “Why did my neighbor call you? And what neighbor?” I glance up at him. He’s quietly watching me pet Pretzel.

“Linda.”

Linda? Linda? Who’s Linda?

Oh…no…not…her!

Immediately, I have to reel in my urge to let off some steam. I. Can’t. Stand. That. Bitch.

“Linda? You mean...” I trail off, unable to speak about it, much less want to think about it. Linda isn’t my neighbor; she lives two blocks from my house. How’d that whore know about Pretzel?

Suddenly, I don’t want anything to do with Big or look at his face. Linda? Seriously?! He had to have been at her house, pounding that disgusting pussy. A roll of revulsion waves through me. I abruptly stand and try to tug my pup’s leash from Big’s hand. No such luck.

“Let go of him. I’ll ride with him on my bike.”

“The hell you will.”

“Why did you bring him here anyway? How did Linda know about him? What aren’t you telling me?” I fiercely question, growing more agitated by the second.

Silence, stupid ass silence, is his reply.

I tug on the leash again. His grip tightens, and I see his muscled forearms constrict, the veins bulging to the surface.

“Give me my dog, Big.” I try to stay calm, but I’m losing my patience. I don’t care if he is the club president. I’m not part of the club, not in the official capacity anyhow.

Linda, that sick bitch he’s spouting off about. She’s part of the club alright or was. She’s a whore, his whore, to be exact. The whore he’s used for the past ten years. The whore who’s been digging her claws into him since I can remember, trying to become his old lady. Big Dick, doesn’t do love; he only fucks, and sure as shit doesn’t want to settle down with some two-bit club whore. But for whatever jacked up reason, he keeps going back to her, year after year after year. It makes me sick. And I’m sure you are wondering why I even care. I’ll tell you why. Because we hate each other. She hates me; I don’t actually hate-hate her. We got in a drag out, knockout, fistfight about a month after I got my pup. Even though she’s about five feet nine, which is seven inches taller than me, and probably double my size. I’m scrappy, and I grew up in this lifestyle. Plus, I have two biker brothers and a biker for a father. So I know how to box. In turn, I fucked her shit up - broke her nose, busted open her lip, and bruised her up something fierce. It’s been years since I’ve even heard her name spoken aloud. She’s not allowed at the club anymore. But that never stopped Big Dick from sliding into home plate wherever she willingly spreads her legs. What a sick son of a bitch.

“Were you at her house, Big?”

His response, nothing but a straight up, scary as hell glare. I’m not going to wilt under his intimidation tactics. I stare back with just as much intensity, my eyes turning into two slits of anger and disgust.

“Were you?” I grind my jaw, the hairs on the back of my neck standing attention, my agitation at an all-time high.

Silence.

Fuck. Him.

“You know what? Keep him!” I snarl, release the leash and pat Pretzel’s head while I wink at him. Then, with a stern face, I sling my leg over my bike, turn her over and not once do I look at him. Not once, do I register any of the words that keep flying from his pissed off mouth as I peel out of the parking lot, heading not home but to the bar. The bar I go to when I don’t want to be found.

“Bink, what’ll it be? Another?” Manny, my favorite bartender, asks, leaning his elbows on the bar in front of me. A whoosh of air from the front door blows my way, thanks to the storm that has suddenly settled in the sky. From the looks of the radar, it’s not going anywhere fast.

Grreeeaaatttt.

It’s eight, and I’ve been here for hours, drinking, eating, chatting, drinking some more, getting hit on, and the list rattles so on and so forth. See, I told you my life was in utter disarray. I don’t even have my fuckin’ dog anymore. What a stupid bitch am I? Do I think Big Dick will put pups in the ground? No, not at all; he called him cute.

A snicker follows that thought. Fuckin Big. Uhh!!! I can’t stand that sexy, infuriating man.

“What’s wrong, princess?” A man in a blue business suit glides onto the bar stool next to mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him bang my brains out, with a determined expression on his face. Big tits, that’s all he sees. My mom was right. ‘One big tit.’

I ignore him.

“What’s wrong?” His hand lands on mine, which is sprawled unladylike on the bar, and I jerk it away.

“Men,” I incoherently grumble, down another shot of whiskey, and slam my empty glass back on the bar with a loud thud.

Ahhh…yes…that good belly burn… Just what I needed.

Tapping my finger on the edge of the shot glass, Manny doesn’t ask; he just pours and keeps the whiskey within arm’s reach for my next refill.

“We’re not all bad, princess.”

Does this doofus really think the princess line is sexy? I’d rather be called a bitch. That would surely make me wetter than some depiction of being a princess, like the fuckin’ Little Mermaid. Note: Women do not, I repeat, do NOT like to be called princess. The whole tiara, prissy bitch thing. Nope, not sexy. It comes off as weak and needy. I’m the furthest from both.

My phone buzzes for the umpteenth time. I roll my eyes, exasperated, and pull it from between my legs, dropping it onto the bar. Sliding open the screen, I’m assaulted with message after message. Fuck. Me. Sideways. I don’t wanna hear all this shit. I’m a grown ass woman. I don’t need some dudes barking orders at me. The dickwad already took my goddamn dog. What the fuck else could he possibly want?

Big: You crazy bitch! What the fuck are you thinkin’? Rollin up outta here on your Prez like that. You know that’s a punishable offense, right? Punishable by lockin’ your ass up at the club and whipping your ass kinda punishment. Hit me up now, or I’m pullin’ rank.

Big: I’m not fuckin’ tellin’ you again. I’ll kill this dog just to spite your mouthy good for nothin’ ass.

Big: Bye-bye, Fido. Dumpin’ his dead ass in the river now. You did this shit to yourself.

Tears… Big hot tears well in my eyes, coating the world in watery bleariness.

Big: I’ve got his collar if you want it. If not, I’ll burn it.

The tears fall, streaming rapidly down my cheeks. He killed my dog! He killed Pretzel, and it’s all my fault!

Manny slides a tissue box in front of me, and I solemnly grin my appreciation.

“It’s on the house.” Another fill to my shot glass, I down it, and he refills. Then another goes down the hatchet.

Me: I don’t want his collar. I don’t want to see you. I’m not comin’ round the club no more. I’m out. Peace.

I sit, staring into the empty shot glass, running my finger slowly around the rim, drowning in my own sorrows, crying like the bitch I am.

Big: Where you at?

Why does it matter? I turn off my phone, and I lay my head on the bar. The cool varnished wood helps numb the pain that has curled itself into my soul and locked itself there. My. Life. Sucks!

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