Two days pass, and we say nothing to one another again. Back to silent glances and avoiding one another as I sit on the floor. I pull my toes up trying to paint them dark blue, but my belly is in the way.

I kick my leg sideways trying to reach and I knock the bottle over onto the rug.

“FUCK!” I grab the bottle, but it’s too late, polish soaks into the carpet. “Fuck,” I whisper under my breath.

“You say fuck a lot.” Mac startles me from the kitchen. His eyes judgmental, as if me being pregnant I can’t say the f-word.

I scowl in his direction. “I’m a drop the f-bomb kind of mom.”

He laughs and sits next to me on the floor. Crossing his legs, he grabs the fingernail polish.

“What are you doing?”

He grabs my foot, and the soft contact causes tingles to shoot up my legs. His hands are warm, and my feet are ticklish to the touch. His greedy stare drinks me in, and a shiver bumps its way up my spine.

“I can do that,” I insist, his touch unraveling me.

“No, you can’t,” he rebuttals calmly, focusing on my toe.

He swipes the paintbrush across my toenail perfectly before going to the next toe. Leaning back on my hands, I watch him paint every nail on my left foot. Cradling my foot, he blows gently across my toes, and goosebumps pepper along my skin. His hooded eyes set on mine, dark eyelashes framing his forest eyes. He’s so handsome and ruggedly good-looking at the same time. Every nerve ending I have is alive and thirsty for his touch.

“Is this your favorite color or something?” he questions.

“No, I love dark green. Like forest green.” His eyes meet mine and I hold my breath. Dark green like the flecks in his eyes, but I don’t say that.

“What’s your favorite color?” I ask.

He ignores me, he does that a lot. Especially if I’m asking a question.

“You have to like a certain color,” I press.

“Black,” his tone dry. I like the color black for clothes, but that’s about it. It’s dark and bleak of any emotion. Then again, Mac is hard at showing what he’s feeling exactly too. So, it’s rather perfect I suppose.

Moving his hand to the next foot he caresses my ankle, and I melt into his hold. I don’t know if I want to be pissed at this man or ravish him. Damn hormones.

He paints each toenail and blows across them again. I’ve never understood people with foot fetishes, but Mac holding my foot, and blowing hot breaths across my sensitive skin… I’m starting to understand it now.

He knowingly smirks as he screws the lid on the nail polish. I look away, wetting my lips.

Standing up, he chuckles. He knows what he’s doing to me. “Better clean that mess up, Pocahontas.”

I’m not sure if he’s talking about the polish… or me.

* * *

Eating a bowl of soup, I watch Mac do push-ups in the living room. His arms bulge, his back is sweaty, and his hair sways in his face. We’ve been cordial with each other for the last few days, which is a step in a better direction.

“Enjoying your soup?” he asks between push-ups.

“Mmhmm.” I can’t take my eyes off him. If I look hard enough, I swear I can see his pack sweep across the floor when he thrusts upwards.

A knock on the hotel door catches my attention. Waddling across my room, I open the door and find a man with black shaggy hair standing in the doorway of the suite.

“Hey Simone!” he nods with his chin. He’s the president of the club, I saw him briefly before Kane swept me up here. He’s tall and makes me shrink where I stand. Him standing so close to me, I swear I can hear the cries of his victims crying in my ear. He’s dangerous. I’ve heard of this man from many clubs in the area but never had the pleasure to meet the Reaper himself.

“Mac, you got a second?” Stepping past me, one hand in his pocket, he heads to Mac.

Mac jumps to his feet, his chest puffed out and falling and rising with each breath. Man, he makes me feel like a woman.

Zeek talks to Mac in a hushed voice. Mac finally glances my way, his face ashen. I suck in a tight breath knowing what he’s going to tell me… I’m not going to like.

Zeek sighs and runs his hand on the back of his neck, before turning my way. Every passing second they hold their tongues, I deprive myself of air.

“Simone, I was just informed Kane was found dead this morning. His motel room was blown up.”

My knees grow weak, and I have to grab onto the counter to keep myself up.

“W-what?”

My head lowers as my heart beat drums out my hearing. The hotel room was blown up? He’s dead. Just like Gatz. Both blown up. My head snaps up, both Mac and Zeek looking at me with concerned eyes.

“Does both of them being killed the same way sound like coincidence to you?” My voice wavers. “Does it?” I ask louder, my heart needing some fucking answers for once. I won’t turn around and be ignored on this.

Mac and Zeek look at each other before Zeek crosses his arms.

“We used to think a rival enemy killed Gatz but seeing how Kane was just killed the same way, I’m rethinking our target,” Zeek confides, telling me what I was afraid of.

“It’s Veer. It has to be.” Pressing my hand to my head, I try and fight back the tears threatening to fall. This is all my fault, the never-ending domino effect continues to curse me and anyone I know.

“I should go home before anyone else gets hurt,” I murmur to myself.

Zeek sucks in a breath, catching my attention.

“What?” I side-eye him.

“I had a close contact check on your family, and your father was murdered some time ago, but your mother got away; nobody has seen her.” Mac and Zeek’s face etch with sympathy, but I can’t accept it, I can’t fucking do a thing but crumble piece by piece.

My world spins, my stomach threatening to upchuck the soup I just had. This is too much.

Looking at the floor, a single warm tear slides down my cheek. If it weren’t for this child, I would just hand my heart and soul over to Veer. He’s taking everything away from me, soon enough it will just be me and the baby standing in the wake of corpses and ash.

“That’s enough for today, man.” Mac steps in front of Zeek. His protective act would be heartwarming if my heart wasn’t splintered all over the floor.

The thud of Zeek’s boots sound as he whispers to Mac before leaving the suite. The sound of the door shutting and locking causing a choke to rip up my throat.

“Simone?” Mac’s voice is lathered in sympathy, and I hate it. I need him to be a dick to me, make me clam up and not feel. Hand over my mouth, I rush to my room, but before I can shut my door, concealing myself from the world, Mac shoves his foot in the door jamb.

“Go away, Mac!” I try and shut the door, but he keeps pressing against it. He’s strong.

Reaching through the door he grasps my wrist, his hand warm and caring, forces me to stop my fighting. Glossy eyes feast on his dilated pupils. His thumb drawing circles on my wrist.

“You’re safe,” he whispers, but it’s not me I’m worried about. It’s everyone around me.

“Please, just let me go,” I plead, my vulnerability making me want to hide. He exhales a ragged breath and reluctantly, lets go. I shut my door, my head leaning against it. Needing to process what’s going on in my head; in my heart.

Why didn’t Gatz and Kane tell me about my dad?

Where is my mother?

Where is Veer?