Unbeautifully

by Madeline Sheehan

  In its place…a quiet numbness.

  We’d been together ever since.

  Did I love him?

  I did love him, like I loved…my brother.

  It wasn’t his fault. He was a good man, kind and generous, and he truly cared for me. But no matter how much time passed, every time I climbed onto the back of his bike and put my arms around his middle…

  It felt wrong.

  He wasn’t Ripper.

  Turning away with a sigh, I grabbed a pair of ZZ’s sweatpants and shoved into them, tying them tightly. Searching through the bedding, I found my black camisole and slipped it over my head. Grabbing ZZ’s cigarettes, I lit one, shoved the pack in my waistband, snatched my keys off the dresser, and headed for the door.

  Noise greeted me in the hallway, a mixture of happy shouts and clinking glass.

  Knowing the boys and their exorbitant capacity for alcohol, I figured the wedding celebration had begun a day early.

  Halfway down the back hall, I stopped, checked right, then left, making sure I was alone before unlocking Ripper’s door and slipping quietly inside. After locking the door behind me, I tossed my keys and smokes on his unmade bed, flipped the lights on, and headed for his bathroom.

  Three more drags and my cigarette was shot and flushed down the toilet. I undressed quickly, started the shower, and stepped inside, sighing happily under the stream of hot water.

  Because he’d left his shampoo and soap behind, here was the only place I could still find a piece of Ripper. Not even his bed smelled of him anymore, and so I took advantage of this small retreat down memory lane whenever the opportunity to slip away arose.

  I washed my hair first, breathing in the sharp, clean scent of his generic 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner. The tiny sliver of soap that remained, I glided up over my arms and legs, up and down my body, slowly, slower, until I could feel the warming stirrings of arousal deep in my belly.

  The soap slipped through my fingers as I pressed one palm against the wall and slid the other between my thighs.

  Fuck… Fuck, Danny, fuck…I’m gonna fuck you so hard…you’re gonna scream, baby…

  I want that pussy, baby, gimme that beautiful fuckin’ pussy.

  Here, now, I could pretend all I wanted. I didn’t have the reality of ZZ smacking me in the face. Here I was surrounded by nothing but Ripper and my memories of him.

  Here, I had no problem coming.

  Picturing his big, beautiful body covered in scars, in tattoos, laden with heavy muscle, I cried out as my fingers increased their pace.

  I was so close, almost there and I needed to finish, I needed it more than I needed my next breath.

  It was all I had left.

  The shower curtain suddenly ripped open with an audible snap. Startled, I spun around, nearly losing my balance and came face-to-face with…

  Ripper.

  Poof…he’d disappeared.

  Poof…he was back.

  Just like that. Standing there in front of me looking the same as ever. Well, he was bigger, his neck and arms were thicker, his clothing tighter. His head was shaved, only a layer of blond fuzz remained, showing off the two long scars on the right side of his skull that I’d never known about.

  But still Ripper.

  Just standing there looking at me as if the past year of my life hadn’t been one long, bitter stretch of unbearable agony.

  I tried to speak, to say something, to move, but all that happened was a large exhalation of shuddered air and a tiny, pathetic squeak.

  • • •

  Everyone had been happy to see him. More than happy. Fucking ecstatic. After nearly an hour of hugs and back slaps and enough shots to give him more than a good buzz, Ripper had finally managed to sneak away.

  The first sign of something wrong was the fresh smell of cigarettes that greeted him inside his room. The second, the Hello Kitty key ring and nearly full pack of smokes on his bed. The third, the running shower.

  He knew. He knew who was in there. There was only one bitch associated with this club who sported Hello Kitty bullshit.

  What the fuck was she doing in his room, in his bathroom, in his motherfucking shower?

  Was she in there with Z? Fucking fuck, he’d flip.

  He stalked toward the bathroom, the sounds of soft moaning stopping him in his tracks. Nearly a year had passed yet he instantly recognized Danny nearing orgasm. Raw jealousy and ugly hatred flooded him.

  They were fucking in his shower?

  Was this a fucking joke? Did God hate him this much?

  Or just Danny?

  Crossing the tiny room, he envisioned his hands choking the life out of…

  He ripped the shower curtain open and all his blood drained straight to his feet.

  She looked…different.

  Aside from the full back piece that initially spanked him in the face before she’d whipped around, she was thinner, less muscular, and softer looking.

  And tired. She looked downright exhausted.

  And still fucking beautiful.

  Ripper stared at her; her blue eyes wide with surprise, her drenched body heaving with heavy breaths, her slim legs quivering.

  He wasn’t sure who moved first. But it didn’t matter; they both were moving, crashing into each other and he took immediate control, wrapping his hand around her neck, shoving her up against the shower wall as he yanked open his leathers. With her arms wrapped around his neck, she hoisted up off the floor and locked her legs around his waist.

  Fully clothed, soaking wet, full of seething, jealous anger and a longtime pent-up need for her, he found her entrance and in a single thrust, jammed himself inside of her. Her following scream of pain sending a perversely thrilling spike of pleasure straight through him.

  They were fighting more than they were fucking.

  He could both see and feel…fuck, he could taste the rage radiating off her. Yeah, well, fuck her, he was motherfucking pissed off too.

  It was frantic, desperate, thoughtless fucking. Each of them physically screaming for more, for as much as they could get from the other.

  Amping it up, he powered into her, uncaring that her head was bashing repeatedly against the wall, uncaring that her nails had surpassed skin and were well on their way to puncturing his muscle, uncaring that instead of kissing him, she was biting him without restraint and blood was filling his mouth.

  Grabbing a handful of her hair, he pulled her head to one side and sunk his teeth into her neck; shudders wracked his entire body as she cried out against his shoulder, again and again and again.

  But she didn’t try to stop him. In fact, later, when he stopped to really think about what had happened, he would realize that the more he’d hurt her, the more she’d hurt him, the more pain they’d wanted.

  This wasn’t love. It was hate. And love.

  That fine line had been destroyed.

  Mutilated.

  He wanted to knock her fucking teeth out.

  No, he wanted to take her to bed and fuck her the way he used to, feel the way he used to feel when he was inside of her. Not like this, never like this. This shit was nothing but an outlet for empty rage and bone-crushing heartache.

  He wanted to cry.

  Instead, he came.

  “Fuck!” she screamed, shoving at him. “Get out of me! Ripper, pull out!”

  He stumbled backward, bent over, groaning as he continued to finish.

  “You fucking asshole,” she hissed, kicking him in the calf. “You came in me!”

  “Sorry, bitch,” he gritted out, glaring up at her as he straightened out his body. “Didn’t mean to piss all over Z’s territory.”

  He should have expected it after the way they’d just fucked, that one wrong comment and she was going to go ballistic, but he was still in shock from finding her in his shower, from fucking her and then coming only seconds ago.

  The moment she barreled into him, her nails going right for his face, his feet slipped out from under him and they
both went down hard. Cursing, he tried to grab her, but she was flailing, soaking wet, and he couldn’t get a good grip on her. Finally he just gave up, lay there on the bathtub floor, trying to shield his face until she tired herself out.

  At least that had been the plan until something she said in between her bouts of cursing and hysterical nonsense shocked the ever-loving shit out of him.

  Renewed strength born from heart-stopping rage had him grabbing her, throwing her carelessly over the side of the tub, and following her over. Pinning her arms above her head, he straddled her and grabbed her chin hard enough to bruise, forcing her to look at him.

  “What the fuck did you say?”

  “That I fucking hate you!”

  He squeezed harder and she whimpered.

  “Answer me,” he growled.

  “I was pregnant,” she hissed. “And I had an abortion. Happy?”

  Was he happy? Was he motherfucking happy she’d killed his kid? Never once during the five billion psychotic voice mail messages she’d left him had she mentioned being pregnant or having an abortion. He would have come home. He would have come the fuck home.

  Releasing her, he got to his feet. “Get out,” he snarled. “Get the fuck outta my room!”

  Trembling with rage, Danny rolled over and jumped to her feet. “You left me,” she vehemently accused. “You fucking left me!”

  “All that cryin’ you fuckin’ did, callin’ me all the time, and not once did you mention bein’ pregnant! Not once!”

  “You left me!”

  “Is that all you know how to say?” he yelled as he bent down to grab her clothing. Shoving it at her, he pushed her backward, out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. “GET OUT!” he roared, then slammed closed the bathroom door.

  He waited until he heard his bedroom door open and close, then sank to his knees. Pregnant. Pregnant. She’d been fucking pregnant. And she’d killed it. She’d killed his baby.

  His baby.

  Jesus, he was going to throw up.

  Staggering to his feet, Ripper sent his fist into the bathroom door, then his boot, then his fist again and his boot again, and again and again until he was tired of beating on the door and spun around only to be greeted with his fucked-up reflection in the mirror.

  “FUCK YOU!” he roared as his fist shot out. The mirror shattered on impact.

  Shattered.

  Just like his fucking life.

  He’d stay for the wedding but afterward he was putting miles of road between him and anything to do with Danielle West. And this time when he left, he was throwing his cell phone in a lake and making sure no one, not even Deuce, would be able to find him ever again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Deuce wasn’t gonna lie. With his hair pulled tightly back, dressed in his leathers, a clean white tee, and his Horsemen cut, standing there in the middle of a motherfucking gazebo decorated with motherfucking flowers, he felt damn uncomfortable. Didn’t help that Mick, Cox, and Ripper were laughing at him, and standing across from them was Kami, Danny, and Dorothy, all dressed in matching black dresses, also laughing at him.

  Yeah, real fucking funny. Bet they wouldn’t think it was funny if he pulled out his Glock and took out their knees. Except for Danny. He wouldn’t shoot his baby. Just glare at her until she ran away. Which she wouldn’t because she never did, because she wasn’t scared of him. His feisty little girl, during this past year, had developed her mother’s tough-as-nails personality. Funny that Danny being the way she was didn’t bother him nearly as much as Christine had.

  Nostrils flaring, shifting uncomfortably, he glared at the minister, an older woman with long white hair dressed in white and purple robes, smiling serenely back at him.

  He caught himself before he growled at her.

  Why the fuck was he getting married?

  Again?

  Because he sure as hell fucked it up the last time. He didn’t know the first thing about how to be a husband. All he knew, all he’d ever known, was how to be a provider. To make sure the people he loved were safe, well fed, and warm, and in Danny’s case and now Eva and Ivy’s, spoiled shitless too. Although, he figured the giant shoe pile of Chucks in his foyer was a pretty good trade-off for the woman he had in his bed.

  But a husband…

  He didn’t do husband. What the fuck did husbands do, anyway? He sure as hell didn’t do it right with Christine. She had wanted so much more from him than he’d been willing to give. Then he’d known how to give. She’d wanted to bend him to her will, own him even.

  Aw, Jesus…he couldn’t pretend to be someone he wasn’t. He couldn’t put a ring on Eva’s finger. He couldn’t fuck her up like he had Christine. Like he did everything.

  “Prez,” Mick whispered, leaning over.

  His head snapped left. “What?” he snarled.

  Mick’s lips twitched. “Nothin’, Prez, just thought maybe you’d wanna watch your bitch walkin’ down the aisle.” Mick’s chin jerked left and Deuce’s gaze followed.

  Suddenly he didn’t give two fucks about how he was going to fare as a husband or how many mistakes he was going to make, which was going to be a lot because, well…that was what he was best at.

  No, he didn’t care about anything else in the world except for his woman, the sweetest kid he’d ever met, the smartest too, a kid who’d turned into the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. A woman who didn’t just love with her whole heart but with her body and soul. A woman who, time and time again, brought him to his fucking knees, had him praying to a god he didn’t believe in just so he could keep her by his side.

  A woman whose motherfucking smile made the world and his life seem somewhat livable. Even worth it sometimes.

  On the arm of Preacher was his Eva. Her soft hair hung long in dark brown waves, her makeup was minimal, and her dress was a simple, strapless white cotton sundress that ended at her knees. His gaze traveled down her silky smooth legs to her feet and his chest constricted. Black Chucks. And not just any black Chucks but her oldest pair. Ratty, doodled on, coming apart at the seams, the same ones she’d been wearing the very first time he’d kissed her. Back when she’d been way too young for him and he’d lost complete control of himself and his better judgment.

  Eva came to a stop at the bottom step of the gazebo and looked up at him, her big gray eyes shining, her luscious lips twitching something fierce, trying not to smile while Preacher straight up glared at him. Deuce glared back. If her old man wanted a fight, he was going to get one.

  “Yo, Prez.” Cox laughed. “You’re gonna wanna go get her, right?”

  Oh. Right.

  He strode forward, taking all three steps at once, and grabbed Eva away from Preacher and started yanking her back up the stairs. The faster they could get this shit over with, the faster he could get her alone. And set to working on kid number two.

  Preacher yanked her back and the two of them spent another good minute glaring at each other.

  “You’ll always be my baby girl,” Preacher whispered, giving Eva a kiss on the cheek, shooting eye daggers at him.

  Yeah, fucking right, he thought, dragging Eva up the steps. Eva was his. All his. Ain’t no man, not even her father, should be thinking otherwise.

  “I have a bra on,” Eva whispered, unable to fight her grin any longer. “It’s my something new.”

  He couldn’t help himself and burst out laughing. She was just so damn…perfect.

  “Something old,” she continued, pointing at her feet.

  “Something borrowed.” She grabbed his gold Horsemen’s tag around her neck. The one that had deuce inscribed on the back.

  “Borrowed for fuckin’ ever,” he said gruffly. Ain’t no way she was ever giving that back. Her grin grew.

  “My dress is white,” she continued. “And I’m wearing your blue boxers.”

  The entire wedding party roared with laughter.

  “Oh, Evie.” Kami sighed. “I told you not to do that!”

  “Fuckin’ hell,
” he muttered, grabbing her arm and turning her toward the minister. “Let’s get this fuckin’ circus over with.”

  Still smiling, although regarding Eva strangely, the minister ushered them closer. “Ready?” the minister asked.

  “Fuck, yeah,” he said gruffly. “This bitch is mine.”

  This time everyone in the entire yard erupted in laughter. Except for Eva. She was staring up at him, her smile wide, her eyes soft. Damn those eyes, drowning him in nothing but Eva.

  “I, Eva Fox, take you, Cole West, to be my beloved husband,” Eva softly repeated. “To have and to hold you, to honor you, to treasure you, to be at your side in sorrow and in joy, in the good times and in the bad, and to love and cherish you always. I promise you this, baby, from the bottom of my heart, for all the days of my life.”

  Deuce stared down at her, burning with a whole mess of emotions he was helpless to turn off. Burning because he knew he’d never get enough of her. Burning because he wanted to pick her up, take her inside the clubhouse, strip her naked, and knock her up again just to make sure she’d never leave. Burning because after all the shit they’d gone through—the pain, the loss, the heartache, the straight up evil brutality that made them question everything they’d thought to be true and had nearly driven them apart for good—he knew he’d do anything for her. Steal anything, kill anyone, be anyone.

  Even a fucking husband.

  “Baby,” Eva whispered, grinning. “It’s your turn.”

  He glanced over at the waiting minister, then back at Eva. “What she said,” he grunted. Then he turned to their guests.

  “This is it,” he bellowed. “This here is me and fuckin’ Eva and this is our fuckin’ road and anyone who doesn’t like it, anyone who’s got somethin’ fucked-up to say, can get the fuck off our road!”

  The crowd—his boys, their family and friends, even Preacher—erupted in happy cheers and laughter.

  “You may kiss your bride,” the minister said, shaking her head.

  He didn’t waste any time. He grabbed his woman, his wife, his Eva and lifted her off her feet and crushed her to him. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck, and their mouths crashed together.