by Marata Eros
“It does matter.”
Mom nods. “I know, honey, and we're so sorry. But we couldn't stand the thought of you being thrown into the system if we blew it by confessing everything.”
“And there is one more detail,” Dad says. “I'd think it would be something to consider.”
My brows pinch together. “No, you guys not telling me the truth all these years.” I rub my temples. “It's pretty much all I could think about.”
Mom winces. “Can you forgive us? We were selfish. We just wanted to keep you and not have anyone else take you, or compromise your safety.” Her bluish-gray eyes earnestly search mine.
I can see how scared they were.
Trainer turns to me. “These guys, they're good people, Krista.” Turning to look at him, I hear what he's not saying. That I could have been a part of the Rothschild household or maybe one like his by some twist of destiny. Mainly, I was farmed out because Orson Rothschild was hoping to make his sick plans of incestuous lineage continue without anyone connecting anything.
Otherwise, I could have easily been in the care of madmen, Allen within spitting distance my entire childhood.
I repress a shiver and face my parents, who are wearing identical expressions of pensive hope.
“I do forgive you. It was just a shock, is all. And finding out that I wasn't really yours…”
“You are,” Dad says, standing and moving up to come around to my side of the couch. He kneels, taking my hands. “We couldn't love you more if you'd come out of Mom's body.”
Dad touches his chest where his heart lies. “You are part of us, Krista Glass.”
Mom nods, sniffling back the tears that flow down her cheeks.
I don't know who moves first, but before my next breath, I'm in my dad's arms, and we're both crying our eyes out.
I'm so relieved, I can hardly breathe.
Dad releases me, and Mom takes over, practically shoving him aside to wrap me in her embrace.
After a couple minutes of happy crying, Mom leans back, and a relieved smile overtakes her face. “We're good?”
I nod, glad Trainer convinced me to face this head on. “Yes.” I give a smile only for him and squeeze his hand again. Gently this time.
I feel as if I've reconnected with allies.
Dad shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he watches our happy faces.
Trainer keeps his hand on my back, and I feel the abiding heat and relax into it.
“So back to my prior comment about what Rothschild's death means to you.”
I cock my head, letting the question fill my face.
“Well, they're looking for an heir to his fortune.” Dad's eyebrows waggle.
My heartbeats bloom like a ripe flower in my chest, piling up in a stack so high, I fold against Trainer.
I never thought about Rothschild's money. Or what being his biological daughter might mean.
“No,” I whisper. “Never considered it.”
Mom and Dad grin. “Might want to. After all, there has to be something good to come out of this mess for you, honey.” Mom's eyes smile at me.
I look between them, lifting my hands, and they each grasp one. “I do have something good that came out of this, and it doesn't have anything to do with money.”
Dad squeezes my hand, and Mom puts my hand against her face.
My eyes are for them both. “You.”
Chapter 36
3 months later
Krista
It feels like sleet hitting my bare back. Hard and unrelenting, birdseed pelts us as we run to the waiting SUV.
The sound of Trainer laughing makes my heart lighter. A rare, sunny early-October day breathes it's deep-blue Indian summer around us, and I'm glad I chose a white wedding dress that was too summery for early autumn.
Then the day came for me to be married, and the sky remained serene—deep blue and perfect, not even marred by a single cloud.
The heavens knew there was someone on earth who had never been happier than at this moment.
The rain of birdseed halts as Trainer picks me up and spins me.
Noose opens the sleek black car door, and Trainer pops me inside without ceremony.
That parts over.
His green eyes sparkle with his happiness, and he bends over my hand, kissing it softly.
“My lady,” he whispers in a voice so low, only I can hear.
My hands thread his hair. “My beautiful man,” I answer just as softly.
Then he's pulling away, face coloring as he tucks the short train of my dress inside the car, closing the door.
It's a full minute before he makes it to the driver's side—because each one of the fifteen Road Kill riders have to slap his back, shake his hand, and give a few hugs along the way.
My eyes meet those of the other “old ladies,” and I smile. They're beautiful women in their own right. Fierce. Loyal. Smart.
Finally, my gaze rests on my parents.
They're crying and hugging.
I turn away from the lovely chaos of the last couple of hours as Trainer hops in, immediately loosening his neck tie.
“Tight as hell. Feel like Noose did it.”
“Did he tie it?” I wink.
He shudders. “Hell no.”
Slowly, we pull away from the quaint church with its steeply pitched roof and shattered jewel-toned stained glass.
“Glad that's over,” Trainer says.
I frown at him.
He grins at me. “Got it wrong, Krista.”
Without looking, he picks up my hand and kisses it again. “I've been wanting to marry you—hell, I think I wanted to that first day in class and didn't even know it.”
“I don't think that early,” I say in a dry voice, remembering him telling me we were going to get the shit on the road.
His grin widens. “Maybe not that day.”
Trainer's grin fades. “You sure ya don't want some big honeymoon.”
I shake my head, pulling his hand against my cheek. I turn it and place a soft kiss in the center of his palm. “No. Being in our new home is the only honeymoon I require.”
His eyes fall away from the road, looking deeply into mine, then swing back. “You're gonna get me in a wreck.”
“You just want to get this dress off.”
Trainer takes our hands and puts mine on his substantial erection. “Yeah.”
My breath catches. “You have a very large appetite.”
“You haven't complained, Mrs. Rife.”
Sighing, I lean back in the seat. “I love the sound of that.” I squeeze him, and he groans.
“Definitely getting in a wreck.”
A half an hour later, we start the trek up the paved drive. After a half mile, we wind around to the front door. The last touches have been put on the grounds.
“It's not too much like his mansion.”
Trainer's referencing Rothschild.
I smirk. “Smaller—much, much smaller.”
Trainer's eyes darken with desire when he looks first at me and then at the door to our new home.
Built with my inheritance.
Now it's ours to share.
DNA proved me as a relative. Rothschild's efforts at deceit and burying his lineage's strange requirements did not surface once during the process of proving it. Not once.
The FBI investigated the fire. No paperwork or electronic files that mentioned inheritance or relatives remained to be used to compare.
At first, I didn't want his dirty money.
But Mom and Dad convinced me that it was meant to be.
Trainer said he'd want me if I was dirt poor and that the decision was mine—as long as Road Kill MC wasn't implicated.
I never would have done anything to jeopardize them. My saviors. The brothers.
Trainer.
When we reach the door, Trainer swings me into one arm and, grunting, plucks keys from his suit jacket pocket. Once the door is open, he scoops me up once again.<
br />
Cradling me just right, he crosses the threshold into our beautiful, brand new home.
Paid for with blood.
Mine and Trainer’s.
*
Trainer is naked, having gladly done away with the wedding outfit finery.
The clothes are scattered like black puddles across the bare, hand-tumbled travertine floors, in a rich, creamy toffee color.
My dress is still on, but he finds the hem and lifts it to my knees, pressing a soft kiss through my stocking just beneath my ankle bone.
Moisture pools between my legs as he makes his way up. Strong hands knead my leg, followed by the same, soft, relentless kisses as they travel higher and higher before sweeping my dress to my navel. He gazes at me for so long, I lift my head, slapping all the layers of dress down to see him.
“Don't stop,” I whisper.
“Not stoppinʼ. Admiring.”
“Oh.”
“No panties,” he says before pushing his finger deep inside.
My back arches off the bed, and I gasp.
“Love that sound.” I hear the smile in his voice.
Removing his finger, he places the flat of his palms on each inner thigh and spreads me.
His tongue feathers over my clit before he takes it deeply inside his mouth, gently sucking on it.
When his finger enters me again, he pumps slowly, and spirals of desire unfurl from my core to my fingertips.
I shove my hands in his hair, pulling roughly at the soft strands.
He lifts his head, green eyes blazing at me with passion. “More or less?”
“More,” I whisper.
Trainer attacks my pussy, laving one side of my labia then stabbing his tongue deep. His warm breath slides across my entrance, making me shiver with pleasure, and he repeats the hot, wet attention on the other side.
He curls a finger deep inside as he presses his tongue hard against my clit, and I shatter in his hands as my vision darkens and my legs shake, my pussy convulsing around his finger.
“There,” he says, rising to his knees, with an erection so big, I'm still amazed every time I see it.
Trainer's satisfied expression changes as he licks my juices from his face and wipes more with the edge of the sheet. “Taste so good, Krista.”
Grabbing my ass cheeks, he hikes them high. “Gotta fuck ya now.”
“Ah-huh,” I reply, dazed, as usual. Trainer never misses tasting me.
He pulls my hips toward his huge cock, and I open wide to receive him.
Cords of muscle stand out as he restrains himself from shoving inside.
We're careful, but the urge to bury himself is there. I know because he's told me.
“So tight,” he says through gritted teeth. “But wet for me,” he whispers.
“So wet.” I spread my legs wider.
“Krista,” he breathes, head hung as he slowly rocks inside me.
I meet him with my hips.
“Can't,” he mutters, and taking hold of my hips tightly, he takes over, using my body to fuck him. He pushes forward, pulling me down on his length as he does.
“Okay?” he asks.
Pleasure starts to build as he taps me deep inside, while deliciously stretching me wide. “Yes,” I whisper.
“More?” Trainers asks.
My eyes fly to his as his taut body moves with an instinctive, smooth rhythm.
“A little,” I say.
His pumps go just a bit deeper, and I cry out as he marries his cock to my womb. Exploding, I scream his name, and he pulls almost all the way out, shoving in as much of him as my body can take.
His hot release fills me, and I moan his name again.
Suddenly, Trainer is everywhere, surrounding me, his hair tickling my face as one hand sinks underneath my lower back. He supports me as he plunges in again, and we cry out together. My pussy gives another deep pulse as it milks him of the last of his seed.
Our eyes lock. His are so green, I can make out the color even in the low light of our bedroom, darkened by dusk.
We stay locked, and Trainer's breathing slows then quiets.
“I love you, Krista.”
“Not more than me,” I say.
“Wanna see?” he asks, getting semi-hard again.
I laugh, my muscles closing around him with the movement. “Will I survive?”
His eyes search mine, ending at my mouth. “I aim to please my lady.”
I kiss him softly, smelling me on his flesh. “I know.”
We don't leave the bed for a long time.
Epilogue
Trainer
One year later
Noose has dark circles under happy eyes. His smile reaches that light-gray gaze every time now.
Was slow in coming.
Rose did that for him. Right now, his old lady's feeding a kid on each tit.
And two are running around, throwing ice from the beer cooler at each other.
“Fuck it,” he drawls, coming over to sit by me with a weary sigh. He drops his weight on one of the patio chairs and groans. “My ass is more tired with these twins than when I went through BUDS. Fuck, I'm beat.”
I'm watching Krista. Her belly so swollen, I can't believe she can walk. Gonna pop any day now.
Her parents are flitting around, worried about her every move.
I don't worry, keep my eyes on her a lot, though.
As if she knows I'm thinkinʼ of her, she turns.
Gives me a boner when she gives me that look. The yearning look, as I think of it.
We're real careful having sex now. Krista still wants me deep. I just take it slow.
“Man, you got it bad,” Noose says, looking between me and Krista.“Yeah,” I say, taking a pull on my beer.
Noose grunts, putting a hand on his knee like he's holding himself up. “How's rich life?”
I shrug. “Don't matter. Never needed much anyways.”
“Don't take this the wrong way, but with all the money Krista got, seems like you two could've got something really big.”
“Yup.”
“Didn't, though.” Noose frowns, taking in the medium sized house.
“Gotta a pool, though.”
I raise my beer, and we clink bottles.
“Yeah, don't know about that one, Trainer. Rains a fuckton here.”
The splashing from all the kids playing is a low roar in the background.
“Kids love it,” I say, thinking about the one cookinʼ in Krista's belly. My kid won't have to worry about Arnies.
Noose watches me watch Krista.
“Don't worry. You're gonna be a great dad.” His lips twist, and he claps my shoulder, picking my thoughts right outta the air.
“Don't know how,” I admit.
“Fuck—you think I did?” Noose snorts, taking a pull from his own beer, then clicks the bottle against mine. “Kinda learn-as-you-go gig. Besides, you sure as fuck know what not to do.” He snorts.
I agree.
Snare and Wring saunter over. Their women, Sara and Shannon, are holding their children who are too young to be in the water.
Wring glances at Shannon before sitting down.
Snare holds up a beer, tilting it my way. “Missed a lot of action recently.”
“Feel grateful,” Wring says, leaning back on the fold-out chair and crossing his feet at the ankle. His eyes restlessly move over his family.
“You guys ever relax with the old ladies?” I ask, wanting a kind of confirmation.
“Pretty relaxed now,” Wring says without looking away from Shannon and their kid.
“God damn, that kid's blond,” Snare says, checking out Shannon and Wring's little boy.
“Toe head,” Wring comments. “Not much choice, what with Shannon being Norwegian. My Viking princess,” he adds, waggling his brows up and down.
“Nice, fucker, don't ruin the moment with your brand of TMI,” Noose says.
“And sometimes that helmet.” Wring whistles low in his throat.
“Nice, stay classy, guys. There's kids around.”
I whip my face to Snare. “Speakinʼ of—where's Viper? He never misses a barbecue.”
“Pussy,” Noose says in casual answer.
Wring shakes his head. “As if. Nah—he's found himself someone.”
That gets all our attention. “No way,” Noose says, violently leveling his beer across his knees and sloshing some onto the stamped-concrete patio. “That bastard is never gonna take another old lady. Lost his girl to cancer years ago—before I was a prospect. No way, no how.”
“Saw her. Saw the way his eyes were on her. It's something more than tail.” Wring gives us a challenging stare.
Can't imagine Vipe with anyone. He's always pissed about all our “complicated pussy problems,” as Noose puts it.
Makes sense.
Though every time I look at Krista, I can't help but think she made shit simpler. And it's not because we have a bunch of cash. Or that the house the guys were helping put together for me is now the new place for brothers to hang if they need a spot for a while.
I see Judge and Eleanor mingling with Krista's parents and greeting everyone.
Then Lariat snags my attention, walking up late. A sheepish expression on his face, he's holding a huge box with dancing lambs on it.
“Hey, fuck nuts,” he says, staving off all the teasing that comes with someone lookinʼ like Lariat, holding a gift wrapped in dancing lambs. Yellow sparkly paper, crescent moons, and baby lambs. Pretty girly.
We start laughing.
He flips us off.
Life is good.
“Angel wrapped it, okay?” He rakes a hand through his dark hair. “So fuck right off with your bullshit.”
He plops it down in front of me, and I frown. “What? Isn't this for when the kid pops out? I mean, shouldn't Krista be opening this?”
Lariat shakes his head and lasers a stare at the other brothers. “It's from all of us, but fuck if I knew how to wrap this shit.”
“Huh. Okay,” I say. “Thanks.”
Silence meets me. I pluck the bow, and satiny yellow ribbon unwinds, falling softly to the concrete below.