“Nothin’,” he whispered. “I’ll fill it out. She’s my kid.”
She locked on to his eyes, sucking him in, holding him still, and making him so fucking crazy. Always making him crazy.
“Deuce?”
“Yeah?”
“No more women.”
Fuck.
“Yeah, babe, I know. I’ve been fuckin’ up.”
“You get angry at me, and you want to take it out on pussy, you take it out on mine. It won’t matter how mad I am; I will never deny you.” She gave a shaky laugh that made his chest ache. He’d fucking hurt his woman real bad.
“Eva, baby,” he said softly, “there’s not gonna be any more women. Already moved Miranda out and cut all ties. I promised you I’d fuckin’ earn you, and it’s ’bout time I started doin’ that.”
She let out a shuddery sigh that only made him feel worse.
“I love you, Deuce,” she whispered. “So, so much.”
He stared at her, she stared at him, and he knew exactly why his boys had railed at him. She did love him. He was her world. He knew because he could see it in her big gray eyes. Suddenly, the past didn’t fucking matter anymore. She wasn’t going to run, and he was going to treat her like the goddamn queen she was.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
For the first time in a long time, Deuce knew true peace.
Three months went by, and Ivy was discharged.
Eva turned half his room at the club into a nursery.
Then the crazy bitch gave Danny her own room at the club and helped her decorate the fucking thing, too. Pink and purple as far as the eye could see. He flipped his fucking shit. Put a steel door on her room with a sliding deadbolt. Put bars on her window. Lined all his boys up and told them straight up his baby girl was off-fucking-limits. Told them if any of them looked at her the wrong way, they were going to ground.
Not one of them so much as looked at her. In fact, they stopped talking to her altogether.
Shit moved forward.
Life got good. Real fucking good.
Kami and Devin moved to Montana to be near Eva and Ivy. Not Cox. Kami swore up and down Cox had nothing to do with her decision. Deuce might have believed her if she hadn’t been in Cox’s lap while she was spouting her bullshit.
He turned forty-nine.
Cox left his wife and moved in with Kami.
Danny got a boyfriend.
Danny’s boyfriend broke up with her, and Deuce swore he had nothing to do with that.
Cox finalized his divorce. He put a diamond ring on Kami’s finger. She didn’t like it and bought herself a bigger, more expensive one. And matching earrings. He thought he heard Cox muttering about taking away her Internet access—something about shoes that cost several thousand dollars.
Devin turned five.
Cox bought him a dirt bike, and Kami beat the crap out of him with a cooking pot.
Eva turned thirty-one.
Kami kicked Cox out—something about not liking the way he’d been looking at a supermarket cashier. He was more interested in how she managed to get Cox into a supermarket.
The boys had a new tag made for him, the back of which read Foxy. He managed to punch three of them in the face before they all turned tail and ran. Then he put it on.
And grinned.
Summer was good to the club. Lots of business. Lots of coin rolling in. Two of his boys got married. The club voted in three new brothers.
Eva’s ass deflated—not that he cared. He’d take Eva any which way he could get her. Thin, curvy, juicy as hell. A fucking blimp. What the fuck ever. It had never been her body that kept him tied to her. Shit with Eva went a hell of a lot deeper than looks. Although those tits of hers…and those lips…
And God knows those fucking eyes made him damn crazy.
Cox and Kami got married; she let him move back in.
Ivy turned one. She took one look at her Hello Kitty birthday cake, Danny’s idea, and did a face-plant dead center. A picture of her covered in cake and frosting—her white-flecked blue eyes glittering, grinning her old man’s grin—was sitting front and center on his desk.
He started planning something big. Something real fucking special for his woman.
Then one summer day it all blew to smithereens.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ivy, Deuce, and I walked hand in hand through the club’s large backyard. Country music was blaring through several strategically placed speakers. Three large grills were already lit and cooking up hot dogs, hamburgers, and steaks as bikers and their wives, girlfriends, and children were milling around, drinking beer or soda, talking animatedly with each other.
Smiling.
Dancing.
Happy.
Deuce squeezed my hand. “Babe, go get busy with woman shit; I gotta talk to Ripper.”
Before I called him any one of the assortment of names I had stashed away for all of his chauvinistic bullshit, I hurried off to a long table displaying several different varieties of macaroni salad, chips and dips, pretzels, and assorted veggies. Dorothy stood behind the table, wearing a black apron over her cute pink sundress, dishing out food.
I kicked off my sandals and went to help her.
“Hey,” I whispered, nudging her with my hip. “You OK?”
Biting her bottom lip, she shook her head. “I’m never OK when I have to watch him with her.”
I followed her line of sight to Jase, his wife, Chrissy, and their three kids. Thirteen years he had been messing with Dorothy; she was thirty-three now, and he still hadn’t made good on any of the promises he’d made her. She’d left her husband for him; her daughter was sixteen, headed for college next fall, and she was going to be all alone. It was none of my business, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.
“Take a break,” I suggested. “I got this covered.”
Her eyes went wide. “You’re Deuce’s old lady.”
I shrugged. “So? I’m pretty sure that doesn’t mean I can’t serve noodles.”
Shaking her head, but smiling, she untied her apron and handed it to me. “Thanks,” she whispered and ran off. Jase turned away from Chrissy and watched her flee the barbeque and disappear inside the clubhouse. Frowning, he whispered something in Chrissy’s ear—who nodded and smiled—and took off after Dorothy.
“Eva?”
I turned back to the table and found Cox’s ex-wife, Anna, standing in front of me. She’d cut her long black hair short; it looked good.
“Hey,” I said. “Dropping Mary Catherine off?”
She nodded and pointed to her preteen daughter who was laughing, chasing after Devin.
“Food?” I lifted up a plate in offering.
She wrinkled up her nose. “No thanks. I’m trying to lose weight.”
I looked her over, wondering where she needed to lose weight.
“Hi, Eva! Anna!” Chrissy sauntered over. She was gorgeous. Tall, lithe, big perky breasts, long auburn hair. With her perfect tan and perfectly shaped and symmetrical features, she was an all-American wet dream. She was everything Dorothy wasn’t. Hell, she was everything I wasn’t. Good thing I didn’t give a crap.
“Chrissy,” Anna said, greeting her.
“Are you two coming to yoga tomorrow?” Chrissy asked, bouncing up and down in her cutoff jean shorts and tight white tank top, drawing the attention of every biker within thirty feet. Even Deuce.
I glared at him. He flashed me a mouth-watering grin before turning around and resuming his conversation.
“Yep,” I said. Chrissy and her yoga classes had been my saving grace. I had lost all my pregnancy weight and then some.
“Yep,” Anna said. “God knows I need it.”
I shook my head. Anna had gone a little nuts after Cox left her.
“Awesome!” Chrissy cried and started bouncing again.
“Where’s Dorothy?” ZZ bellowed from across the lawn, trying to be heard over the music.
I raised my palms in an I-don’t-know gesture and yelled bac
k, “What do you need?”
“Lighter fluid!”
I gave him a thumbs-up and headed inside.
I was halfway down the hall of bedrooms when I heard loud moaning coming from Jase’s room. I headed that way, knowing exactly what I was going to find.
Sure enough, with his pants around his ankles, Jase had Dorothy pinned up against the wall, her dress pushed up to her waist.
“I fuckin’ love you,” he rasped. “You don’t even know, D. You don’t even fuckin’ know.”
Dorothy, whose face was buried in Jase’s neck, whimpered.
Quietly, I reached around the door to press the lock button, and then silently pulled it closed, testing it to make sure it was indeed locked. Chrissy did not need to walk in on that.
Dorothy didn’t deserve to be led on, either.
But it was typical. And there was nothing I could do.
A short time later Dorothy returned to the barbeque, looking flushed. Together, we watched Jase leave the clubhouse and head back to Chrissy. Chrissy curled herself around him while he stared at Dorothy, promising her with his eyes all sorts of things I knew he would never make good on.
“He’s finally going to leave her,” she whispered, her eyes on Jase.
I pressed my lips together and looked down at the serving spoon in my hands. He was never going to leave Chrissy; he loved her in his own fucked-up way. He loved Dorothy, too. He had whittled his female admirers down to just the two of them and had no plans on leaving either.
Thankfully, Deuce appeared beside me, saving me from having to respond to her.
He looked quizzically between us, and then followed Dorothy’s gaze to Jase and frowned.
“D,” he said in a low voice. She glanced over and blushed.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“Can’t have you pissin’ off my old ladies and makin’ shit hard for my boys, D.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I’ll go if you want.”
I dragged him a good distance away. “It’s his fault,” I hissed. “He followed her inside and did ‘you know what’!”
Deuce raised an eyebrow. “You know what?” he repeated, smirking.
I folded my arms across my chest, and his gaze zeroed in on the cleavage that had just popped out of my deep purple sundress.
“Can we go do ‘you know what’?” he asked, grinning.
I rolled my eyes. “No.”
“Please?”
I fought my smile and lost. He ran his knuckles down my cheek.
“Got you a present,” he said softly.
“A big, sweaty man present?” I asked.
Deuce grinned. “That, too. Come on.”
He grabbed my hand, led me inside the club, past the bedrooms, through the living area, and pushed open the front doors.
“All yours, babe.”
I blinked rapidly. Then I forgot how to blink and just gaped at the priceless beauty in front of me.
“No,” I whispered.
“Babe. Yeah.”
Solid cast aluminum wheels, a beefy front fork, and a wide-bodied fuel tank. Twin shocks tucked neatly out of sight, the rigid-mounted Twin Cam 96B engine, the chrome over/under dual exhaust, and the five-gallon fuel tank.
I was in shock.
“Boys who did the custom work gave me a whole lotta shit ’bout those sparkles, darlin’. You fuckin’ owe me.”
It wasn’t as if he had the entire bike custom sparkled—just the seat—and I absolutely loved it.
“I can’t believe you remembered,” I breathed, running my hand over my bike. My perfect, perfect bike.
“Cutest kid I ever met. And at Rikers, no less. Talkin’ ’bout sparkly Fat Boys and pink fuckin’ helmets with skulls on them and tellin’ me straight up you were gonna be queen of an MC. That was your dream, babe. I’m your man. You feelin’ me?”
Oh my God. He’d made me queen. Because he was my man and that was my dream. My man made my dream come true.
He got me my sparkly Fat Boy.
And my pink helmet with skulls on it.
I turned, grinning so wide it hurt, and poked him in the chest. “You love me.”
He snorted.
“Babe. Yeah.”
I launched myself at him. Gripping my waist, he swung me up and into his arms. Our mouths crashed together, and we kissed the way we always kissed—desperate, hungry, full of such crazed intensity that if bottled could power an entire city.
Sheesh. He so loved me. Just…sheesh.
“Hey,” I said softly and cupped his cheek.
“Yeah?”
“What about your dream?”
His face went dimples. “I’m lookin’ at it, darlin’.”
Oh. Crap. My heart felt near bursting. I was absolutely done for. This man owned me, body and soul, and everything in between.
“I wanna go do ‘you know what’ now,” I whispered.
“That’s good, babe,” he whispered back. “Real fuckin’ good.”
We fell onto our bed in a tangle, kissing feverishly, tearing at each other’s clothing. “Love you,” I breathed, “so, so much.”
He pushed the straps of my dress down my shoulders and spread kisses along my collarbone. His mouth traveled lower with his hands pulling my dress down as he went. I threaded my fingers through his hair, moaning and begging him for more.
Using the tip of his tongue, he traced the scar from my C-section.
“Fuckin’ love you, baby,” he rasped.
Then he got to his feet and tugged my underwear off. Lifting my legs, I rubbed my grass-stained feet over his bare torso and giggled.
Grinning, he unzipped his jeans. “You want it hard?” he asked gruffly.
I bit my lip and shook my head. “I want it slow, baby.”
His eyes went soft. “Fuck,” he murmured. “I just wanna look at you, babe. I just wanna stand here and look at you until I can convince myself you’re really fuckin’ here, and you’re not goin’ nowhere, and you really want me.”
I closed my eyes, letting his words sink inside of me.
“Get the fuck off her, motherfucker, before I blow a hole through your fuckin’ skull!”
My eyes flew open. I knew that voice.
Frankie appeared from behind Deuce and moved to his side, pressing the barrel of a gun into Deuce’s temple. He was a mess. Filthy. His hair was greasy, his beard was long and unkempt, and his clothing was full of holes and covered in stains.
“Horseman!” Frankie bellowed. “I said back the fuck up!”
Nostrils flaring, his expression murderous, Deuce zipped up his jeans and backed slowly away. I hurriedly pushed myself into a sitting position and pulled my dress up.
“Don’t fuckin’ move, cunt,” Frankie hissed at me. Turning, he tossed a pair of handcuffs at Deuce, who caught them one-handed.
“Cuff yourself to the radiator,” he demanded.
Deuce stared at him. “No fuckin’ way,” he growled.
“No?” Frankie grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me across the bed. The barrel of his gun felt cool against my neck. “You want her to die?”
Shaking with fury, Deuce bent down beside the radiator under our bedroom window, clasped a cuff around one of the steel bars and the other around his right wrist.
Frankie turned back to me, grinning.
“Been watchin’ you, baby,” he said. “Been watchin’ you a long fuckin’ time now.” He leaned over the bed and got up in my face.
“Been watchin’ you fuck this asshole!”
Trembling, I stared into Frankie’s dark eyes. “You killed Chase. You butchered him.”
“Yeah,” he sneered, standing up straight. He shook his head and laughed. “Fucker screamed like a girl, too.”
I felt the acidic burn of bile rise in the back of my throat.
“You didn’t think I knew, did ya? But I did. Every time he’d come to fuckin’ talk to me, I saw it in his eyes. Him thinkin’ he was pullin’ one over on me. Thinkin’ he could get away wit
h fuckin’ my wife.”
“I did it for you,” I whispered.
Still gripping my hair, Frankie yanked me to my knees and slapped me across the face. “You fuckin’ the Horseman for me, too?”
Holding my cheek, I stared up at him.
“Frankie,” I whispered, “please don’t do this.”
“Get on your fuckin’ stomach, bitch,” Frankie snarled, releasing my hair and shoving me down. “Gonna show you and this fuckin’ asshole who really fuckin’ owns ya.”
Deuce made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and my eyes shot to him. He was six feet four inches and two hundred and fifty pounds of murderous rage. He pulled on the handcuffs so hard his hand was bleeding. His body was strung bowstring tight, his veins were bulging out of his arms and neck, and his eyes were bugging out of his skull. He was vibrating—literally vibrating—with hate.
Trembling, trying to blink back the tears burning in my eyes for Deuce’s sake, I shifted onto my stomach and turned my head to the side, keeping my gaze on Deuce.
“Been gettin’ sloppy fuckin’ seconds from this fuckin’ asshole for too fuckin’ long,” Frankie muttered as he shoved my dress up and spread my legs apart. “That’s gonna fuckin’ stop today.”
I heard his belt buckle open, the slide of his zipper, then I felt his weight, and he began pushing inside of me. I bit my lip to keep from crying and kept my eyes on Deuce.
His eyes never once left mine. He kept me with him and held me tight inside his eyes, where it was safe and warm and no one could hurt me.
• • •
Deuce had been beaten within an inch of his life.
He had been strangled, stabbed, and shot.
He had shot, stabbed, strangled, beaten, and killed.
He’d been hurt, scared, mad, angry as fuck, and homicidally inclined.
Fuck, he had been so fucking pissed off he had his old man killed. His own flesh and blood.
But never, NEVER, had he felt like this.
There wasn’t a word powerful enough to describe what he was feeling or to convey what was happening inside of him. It was beyond words and surpassed all emotions.
It was living death.
He was living through motherfucking death.
His eyes never left Eva’s. As long as he held her gaze, she remained impassive, a little lost even, as if she had detached from her body and was taking shelter inside his. It was all he could fucking give her, and it wasn’t even close to enough. This should never have happened. He’d gotten lax thinking Frankie wasn’t a threat anymore. This was his fault, and Eva was paying for it. He was paying for it.
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