Chapter Twenty-Four
Tiffany felt the flutter in her lower belly and smiled. At twenty-two weeks, she was not only showing but recently began to feel the baby move.
Dropping the plates in the sink, she turned and shouted, “Thomas!”
A moment later, face ashen, sweat beaded on his brow, he barged into the kitchen and rushed her. The white wife beater he wore damp and stained with grease. He’d been working on his car in their garage. “What happ—”
She grasped his hand and held it against her belly. Just then, the baby, whom they’d recently found out was a boy, kicked.
Thomas grinned his unhindered wide grin then pressed his hand more firmly. He kept his hand there without saying a word until their son kicked again. This time, harder. Thomas chuckled. “He’s strong.”
She smiled. “Yes.”
His brows furrowed, smile faded. “Does it hurt?”
She shook her head. “No. It feels…I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s…beautiful.”
He grinned, snaked an arm around her waist, tugged her to him, and kissed her softly on the lips. “Heading to Trig’s to borrow a tool. Be back in a few.” He brought her hand to his mouth, pressed a kiss to her ring finger where her engagement and wedding rings sat.
It had been two months since he proposed. The very next day, they moved into their home. Thomas didn’t have furniture, unless she counted the furniture in his room at the compound. She had some, which meant their home was practically barren, but it wasn’t something that concerned either of them. They had bedroom furniture, a small dining room table, which looked out of place in the large dining room, a sectional, and a television. All her furniture. In time, they’d fill their home. First was the baby’s room.
The day after he proposed, he noticed she didn’t have her car. She’d been so thrilled the night before filling him in on what happened with her parents slipped her mind. When he asked, she told him the whole story. His eyes warmed. He smiled and told her not to worry, that he could take care of her and promised he would. He then handed her a set of keys, one to his Mustang and another to his Explorer, and told her she could use whichever she wanted whenever she wanted.
A couple of weeks later, they were married, a simple courthouse wedding. She hadn’t wanted anything fancy. All she really wanted was to be married to Thomas, and she wanted that as quickly as possible. Thomas surprised her with a party at the compound. It hadn’t been fancy either, just the brothers, the old ladies, Thomas’s mother, good food, and drinks. Thomas wanted her to call her parents and tell them. She thought about it long and hard and decided against it. They didn’t approve, made that clear, and two weeks hadn’t changed that.
With the exception of her parents disowning her, she was living a dream, her dream—married to the only man she’d ever loved and carrying his son. She missed her parents, of course, and hoped with time, they’d come around.
Smiling, she returned to her task, rinsing the plates they used for dinner of food then placing them in the dishwasher to her right. From where she stood in front of the farmhouse sink, she had an unobstructed view of the living room to her left, dining room directly in front of her, and the large windows that lined the back wall. She loved looking out those windows to their yard, seeing the deck, pool, and tress in the distance, a yard where before she knew it, her little boy would play. It was getting dark out, but she could see, imagine their boy and Thomas playing catch out there. She spared a glance at the plate she held making sure she’d rid it of food.
Movement reflected from the windows caught her eye. She smiled. “Back so soon?”
When she didn’t hear a response, she lifted her head, getting a better look at the man through the reflection.
Not Thomas.
The man in her home, in her kitchen, was a good four inches shorter than Thomas, his hair long and loose around his shoulders, and he had a full beard.
Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest, pounding hard and fast against her ribs. She dropped the plate. It clattered in the sink. Her hands went to her belly, but before she could scream, he circled one arm around her ribcage, pressing a knife to her neck with the other.
“Don’t scream. Don’t even fuckin’ talk.” His voice raspy.
She cringed and nodded.
“I’m not gonna kill you. I’m gonna do something worse, but at least you’ll be alive. It’ll be quick, real quick. Get to do to you what my brother couldn’t. Then your man’ll know he wasn’t there to protect you. He’ll know he couldn’t save you, and he’ll have to live with that for the rest of his life.”
Hands shaking, knees weak, she blinked back the tears rushing her.
“Turn around, and remember, I got the power ’cause I gotta knife and a gun, so don’t try anything stupid. You do, I may be forced to kill you.” He released her.
She turned slowly, her hands never leaving her lower abdomen.
His gaze snapped to her belly and widened. He cursed, running his hands through his hair, looking conflicted. She prayed he was, prayed for her and her baby he’d reconsider.
His eyes snapped to hers and hardened. “Get on the floor.”
When she hesitated, he pressed the knife against her stomach. “Now, or I’ll do more than fuck you.”
Her chin trembled, but she did as he asked. A moment later, he kneeled on the tile floor in front of her, lifted her long skirt to her waist and began unbuckling his belt.
She closed her eyes tightly, not wanting to see.
Daddy will come.
Daddy will save us.
She said it in her mind, took a deep breath, and the fear gripping her melted away.
****
“Cuss.”
His head snapped toward the threshold leading into Trig’s garage. Allie, standing at the door, looked pale. He straightened, standing away from the wall and taking several steps toward her.
Trig, not missing a beat, closed the distance between him and his old lady. Before Trig could ask her what was wrong, she spoke addressing him instead of her man.
“Were you and Tiff expecting anyone?”
Cuss’s brows drew together. “Not that I can think of. Tiff didn’t say. Why?”
“I…I saw someone go into your house.”
A blast of adrenaline pumping through his veins, his blood, he dashed out of the garage on a dead run heading for his house. The front door parted, his heart nearly popped out of his chest. Fear guiding his every action, he sprinted inside without so much as a thought, a plan.
In the living room, he scanned his surroundings. Sectional, television, rug, no Tiff. No one else. Then he heard it, a soft whimper and a man’s grunt, coming from the direction of the kitchen. The counter blocking his sight, he ran past it.
There, he saw it, an image that would forever haunt him.
Tiffany sprawled on the floor, her blue skirt hiked up to her hips, her beautiful legs in display and spread. A man in between, hovering over her, over her belly, a knife at her throat, his other hand unbuckling his jeans.
Cuss roared, bellowed so loud his ears rang. Flinging himself toward the man, he grabbed him by the back of his shirt and threw him off Tiffany. When he hit the floor, Cuss punched him again and again until he saw blood. Straightening, he kicked him in the balls then the stomach, flipping him over. Gripping him by the back of his shirt, he dragged him out. The man fought. Cuss fought harder until he’d hauled him out of his house, down several steps, and out on the front lawn. He blacked out after that.
When Cuss came to, Trig and Army stood in front of him, arms extended, pressed against his chest, holding him back. He couldn’t remember when Army got there. He glanced to his sides. Several of his brothers stood close, their eyes filled with pity dead on him.
Pity? Why?
His head snapped around then stilled. A man, that fucking man, sprawled on the ground, bleeding, bruised, and groaning. The memory flooded him. Tiffany lying on their kitchen floor, the bastard hovering over her getting ready to take her—his girl, his old lady, his wife, his whole fucking world.
Rage reignited, pulsing through his veins, coursing through his blood. Not even looking at the man beaten to a pulp, eyes swollen shut, spitting out blood, made that rage simmer.
“Why?” Cuss screamed, fury and emotion choking him so it sounded like he was about to wail.
“I…” He parted one swollen lid then managed, “Dick.”
He had his answer. Dick, the biker he’d beat up months ago who ended up dead. This was payback. This was blowback. His girl, pregnant with his son, had been caught in the middle. They’d been hurt because of it, because of him. He didn’t want to believe it but had no doubt when it stared him in the face.
His heart clenched so tight, his whole chest throbbed in agony. Nausea rushing him, no wonder he didn’t kneel over and barf.
“Cuss.”
Tremors he couldn’t control shook his body. Shit, so out of control enraged, he trembled.
“Cuss.”
No, he wasn’t shaking. Someone held him, and that someone shook him.
“Thomas!”
His gaze darted toward the sound of his name. Standing right in front of him, one hand at each shoulder shaking him, Blaze. Where had Trig and Army gone? Hadn’t they been in front of him? He looked around. Trig and Army stood at his sides, their hands on his biceps, still holding him back.
“Brother, gotta snap the fuck outta it. She needs you.”
She…his girl, the one he couldn’t protect? What a fucking lie. She didn’t need him. She never needed him. What she needed was to stay the hell away from him, keep his son away, too. Only then would they never be hurt by his blowback again.
He shook his head then the weight of it became too much to bear. He dropped it, looking at his feet yet not seeing anything, not feeling anything but that throbbing pain in his chest.
“Look at me.”
He lifted his head. His gaze caught Blaze’s.
“She needs to be checked out, and she won’t let anyone get near. Not even Allie. She’s too still. Think she’s in shock, brother.”
He nodded. Blaze, Army, and Trig released him. Fisting his shaking hands, he walked toward his house, climbed the series of steps to the door then inside. He strode past the foyer, into the living room then kitchen. When he caught sight of her sitting on the floor, the breath rushed out of him. He didn’t take another because staring at her, he couldn’t.
Her back pressed against the white cabinets under the sink, legs under her, hands on her small belly. That beautiful dark mass of hair around her pale face, silent tears spilling down her cheeks. Head angled down, staring at the floor, and yet her eyes were sightless.
The pang in his chest doubled, searing, crushing.
His fault, his fucking fault, his girl was sightless.
Tiffany looked up, met his gaze, and smiled the saddest smile he’d ever seen. On a sigh, she whispered, “Thomas.”
Still, he hadn’t taken a breath.
She lifted her arms, reaching out to him. The look in her eyes, so hopeful, so relieved, happy even. “Please…hold me.”
Cuss settled in front of her, legs open, she in between. He wrapped one arm around her back and rested the other on the swell of her stomach. Tucking her body against his, he trailed his hand up her back until he’d threaded his fingers through her hair. Only after he buried his face in her neck did he finally inhale.
Her body heating his, there he stayed, trying to garner the strength to say how sorry he was. Instead, he asked what he needed to know. “Did he hurt you?”
One word, soft, so low, he barely heard. “No.”
He got there in time. Still, the guilt didn’t abate, knowing the terror she felt those minutes, she’d never forget.
She burrowed into him, head under his chin, hands clutching his shirt. “A part of me wasn’t afraid at all. I knew you’d come. I knew you’d save us.” She trailed her hand up his chest, cupped his cheek, and met his gaze, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You’ve always saved me.”
The way she was looking at him, like he was a goddamned hero, smiling a real smile. A rush of emotion blinding him, he cleared his throat.
“Thank you, Thomas.”
There it was, said in three simple words, the message clear. She didn’t blame him, proving once again all that was beautiful about her.
Fuck, he loved her, loved his son, loved them.
He blinked, and tears spilled out of his eyes.
She wiped the moisture on his face. “We’re fine. We’re safe. You saved us.”
He clenched his jaw, swallowed then wondered out loud. “What’d I ever do to deserve you?” The question more for himself.
She tilted her head to the side and lifted a dark brow. “You mean what’d I ever do to deserve you?”
Those words seared him. He felt them in his gut, in his balls, in his fucking soul. She meant them, and it killed. Any moment, he’d start sobbing.
In an effort to control it, he bent over her resting his face against her belly. She cupped the back of his head and ran her fingers through his hair repeatedly.
His girl trying to soothe him, knowing he needed to be. She managed it so easily, so quickly, with just her fingers gliding through his hair, making the guilt heavier. He should be the one comforting her.
Cuss straightened, met her stare, and cupped her face. “Gotta get you checked out.” He wiped the tears streaking her face with his thumbs.
“I want to hear it first.”
Hear it? Hear what? That seeing her so still on the floor with that bastard over her would haunt him for the rest of his life? That he’d never been more terrified? That he couldn’t live without her? That he loved her so much it physically pained him just thinking about it?
He released a breath. “I love you, baby girl. Always have, always will.”
“I love you, Thomas Layne.”
****
She’s fine. The baby’s fine.
Cuss kept repeating the words the ER doctor said. A part of him couldn’t believe it.
He couldn’t believe his girl had been attacked in their home, couldn’t believe he’d gotten there in time, and he couldn’t believe she was unharmed, his son was too.
If he’d never left…
If it hadn’t been for Miracle…
If this shit with the dead biker would just end…
He sighed heavily.
“You can take her home,” the doctor said arousing him from his thoughts.
His gaze flew to the doctor’s. “But—”
“We’ve checked her and the baby. They’re both fine.”
Right, he already said it five times. Cuss just couldn’t wrap his mind around it.
“Do you mind explaining why she’s being checked? Why this was an emergency?” The doctor asked the same questions the nurses tried to pry out of him before.
Cuss knew they had to ask. Standard procedure and part of their job, but he couldn’t tell them exactly what happened since it meant the hospital staff would be forced to contact police. Involving the cops would only land him in jail for assault and battery. This was his business. He was a biker, and as a biker, he dealt with his own shit. The club would back him, of which he was sure they were doing right then.
Cuss’s gaze hardened.
Before he could snap, Tiffany grabbed his hand and placed it over the swell of her belly, her hand over his. “I tripped and fell. My husband’s a little overprotective and insisted I get checked out although I told him it wasn’t a big deal.”
The doctor’s stare snapped to Tiff. He quirked a brow. “You tripped and fell?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
The doctor’s gaze slid from her to him then back again. “You do realize there’s no evidence of you falling. No bruising, no scraps, no—”
Tiffany straightened from the examination table and threw her feet over the side, still holding his hand over her belly. “Dr. Miller, I understand it’s your job to ask these questions. I know why you’re asking them, and I know what you and several others assume. You’re wrong. To prove my point, I’d like to point out how unlikely it is my husband’s responsible for any harm coming to me or our unborn child considering there isn’t a bruise or scrape on me, as you just pointed out. He’s the one who insisted we come. Please do refrain from further insinuating anything of the sort.” She said this and said it firm but calm.
His girl defending him, she always had his back.
“You’d be surprised how many men bring their battered wives here after they’ve beaten them.”
Cuss’s jaw hardened. He took a menacing step toward the doctor, who he came to realize despite being a doctor was a fucking idiot. You don’t mess with a biker, ever. After the night he had, you were just plain stupid to even mildly insult him.
Tiffany squeezed his hand. “Those women wouldn’t speak on behalf of their husbands.”
“On the contrary,” the idiot went on. “They do.”
“Not the way I am, and they wouldn’t be interacting with their husbands the way I interact with mine either. I think you know that, too. It’s just you’re swayed by the fact my husband’s a biker,” she said, again so calmly.
The doctor had the gall to look insulted.
Tiffany stood from the exam table, pulling him behind her. As they reached the door, she looked over her shoulder. “Looks can be deceiving, Dr. Miller. Remember that.”
As he drove them home, now knowing his girl and son were unharmed, his mind drifted.
Why had this happened? How? He closed the door behind himself, hadn’t he? The door automatically locked when closing. He could’ve done more. He hadn’t locked the deadbolt or turned on the alarm. He just hadn’t thought anything like this could happen. In their small, quiet town, no one locked their doors. No one used alarms. He had one as a precaution. As a Hell Ryders MC biker, you voluntarily and even sometimes involuntarily picked up enemies.
“Please, don’t.”
At a red light, he spared a glance at her.
She placed her hand on his thigh. “Please don’t stew over this. We’re both fine. Nothing happened.”
“I’m gonna sell the house,” he blurted the thought. He didn’t want her to have any reminders of what happened. Whether he sold the house or not, the image would be seared in his brain, but he figured, maybe for her, it’d be easier to forget.
Her eyes widened. “W-why?”
The light turned. He looked forward, released his foot from the break, and hit the gas. “Don’t want any reminders of—”
“No, Thomas, you can’t sell the house,” she pleaded, sounding close to tears.
He pulled off on the side of the road, parked then angled his body toward her. He’d been right. Eyes swimming in tears. “Tiff, I don’t—”
She squeezed his thigh. “No, please. I love our house—”
He shook his head. “You were attacked in that house. You were almost…You would’ve been…” He couldn’t force himself to say it.
She grasped his hand in hers. “Do you remember taking me to our home the first time?”
How could he forget the night he proposed? He nodded.
“Before you told me you bought the house, you took me on a tour. I remember I saw it, and I thought if it was my home, I’d put a porch swing, so we could have a couple of drinks and talk at night. When you showed me the kitchen, I thought it was the perfect set up for a family because from there, I can see into the dining room and living room. When you showed me the rooms, I picked out our baby’s instantly, the one next to ours, with the door that leads and connects to our balcony. When you took me to the backyard, I thought it’d be amazing to have a fire pit for chilly nights…”
Her eyes shining so bright, she went on. “Just as I was thinking that, you proposed. That night you made love to me in our room for the first time. We fell asleep. I woke in the middle of the night thirsty and headed into the kitchen for water. You found me there. You made love to me again. Do you remember?”
Did he remember? That whole night was burned in his mind. Every night, afternoon, day with her was and always would be.
“The good memories far outweigh the one bad one. We can forget this ever happened together. We can make more great memories there with our son and the club. Please…” She shook her head. “I don’t want to sell our home.”
Damn, he was caving. No, he already caved. He gave her whatever she wanted, not that she ever asked for anything. The epitome of easy-going, they always did what he wanted. Even when he asked her what she wanted to do, she always replied with, “Whatever you want.” He would do this for her because she never asked for anything, but most importantly, because he loved her and would give her whatever she wanted.
He released the steering wheel to cup her cheek. “Okay, baby girl, you don’t want to, we won’t sell the house.”
Shaking her head, she whispered, “No.” Her gaze fell from his. She shrugged. “Never mind…if you want to, then we should. It should be a mutual decision. I don’t want to live somewhere that’ll remind you of—”
“I’m gonna remember it either way, Tiff.”
Tears spilled from her eyes.
“Every time, though, I’m gonna remind myself how lucky I am to have gotten to you both in time.” His hand in hers, he rested them over her belly. “I’m gonna remind myself all I have to be thankful for. I’m gonna remember the look in your eyes after…when I got to you. The way you were looking at me like I was a goddamned hero.”
She smiled. “You are my hero, Thomas.”
His chest compressed then expanded. All the love he felt for her pulsing through his body.
He kissed her lips then smiled against them.