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.