“S-sorry. I um, I wanted to talk to you about Daria.”
“What the fuck did you get her into now?” he says, jumping up from his seat.
“Nothing, sir.” I use all the manners my parents instilled in me, otherwise, I would have pulled him across that table and beat him with his fucking laptop for talking to me like a piece of shit.
“Well?”
“I want to ask your permission to marry Daria.” The words flow from my mouth like water from a fountain.
He lets out a bitter laugh. “You're seriously asking permission to marry my daughter? Who you got pregnant at seventeen, then, nine years later, kidnapped her and tried to kill her. My granddaughter was kidnapped because of you and your club, and almost killed. You broke my daughter's heart on more than one occasion.” His blue eyes look amused and he has a smirk on his face as he lists my past indiscretions against Daria.
“Look, I know I fucked up in the past, but I'm trying to make up for all that now. I love your daughter with my whole heart, Nicholas. I know she's old school and wants to do the big white wedding thing because, let's face it, the first marriage was a show for your wife and her bitchy friend.”
“Ex-wife.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes. “My point is, I want to be a better man for Daria. She makes me a better man. When she's in the room, all my anxieties and pent-up anger disappears. She calms me, and I fucking love her. Daria, Emily, and Evan are my whole life. I will die before I go back to the way I was back then.”
He regards me, trying to see if I'm telling the truth, which I am. I won't go back there. I refuse to treat her the way I did back then. He rubs his chin, still staring at me.
“Do you have a ring?”
“Yes, sir. I do.” I swallow, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the black velvet box. He still stays silent. “Look, Nicholas, I know you hate me, and I don't think anything I ever do will change your mind, but I do love Daria. And I will treat her the way she deserves. If you say no, then I won't ask her because I know she would like your blessing first.” I stand and stride towards the door. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Mr. Denver.”
“Fine,” he mutters. He rounds his desk and stands in front of me. “For the record, I don’t hate you. I just don’t like the fact that you got a young girl pregnant and all the shit you put her through in the past. But I’m willing to move on from that. For Daria and for my grandkids, I will put it behind me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You hurt her one more time, and I will kill you.”
“I'll kill myself before that happens,” I vow.
He nods and walks back to finish whatever he was doing. “Lauren, I know you're out there.” Lauren appears in front of me with a massive smile on her face. “Daria used to do the same when she was little.”
“So, how are you asking her? When? Ooh, I know, you can do it down at the lake at sunset. You know how she loves that lake and the sunset,” Lauren chatters.
“Lauren?” Nicholas raises his eyebrow at her. “Leave the boy alone. I'm sure he has his own idea of how to propose. Now, can you both take the conversation somewhere else? I have an important meeting.”
“When are you asking her?” Lauren asks when we exit the office, leaving Nicholas to his meeting.
“I don’t know, but it’ll be soon.” I smile down at her teary hazel eyes.
“I’m so happy for you both. You deserve all the happiness in the world.” She pulls me into a hug.
Daria deserves everything in this world. I’m going to give it to her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Daria
“Come on, Ems. You’ll be late,” Striker shouts up to Emily. “Blair’s waiting.”
Blair’s playing peek-a-boo with Evan. I smile, looking at them. He’s become really close with not only Emily, but Evan too. Evan loves Blair and giggles every time he sees him.
“Dee?” I blink and shake my head. Blair smiles at me. “Evan’s diaper needs changing.”
“O-okay.” I take Evan from him, and Blair and Emily are gone when I come back down to the kitchen with Evan.
“You okay?” Striker asks when I sit down. Evan fights his sleep until he gets his milk.
“I want another one,” I blurt out of the blue, looking down at my five-month-old son who has fallen asleep in my arms.
Striker chokes on his coffee. “What?”
“A baby. I want another one.” He regards me for a moment to make sure I'm serious before answering me.
“Baby, we talked about this.” We discussed the prospect of adding one more baby to our family when Evan was only two months old. Striker thought I just wanted another baby to distract myself from what was going on in my head about the whole Brad thing, instead of facing the problem head on. I can’t put what I’m feeling into words. Not even to Dr. Jacobs, my therapist.
How can I tell him that I’m still terrified to leave the house alone? That I hate this house now it’s been tainted with Brad’s blood, and I still see Cobra’s body lying in our kitchen when we’re supposed to be having a fun family meal? I’m not sleeping because all I see is Brad lying lifeless, then his eyes spring open, and he stands and comes after me. Pair that with the fact that I’m having flashbacks to when I was fifteen/sixteen, visions that I had locked away for years until now. Why are the visions of that night that killed any sort of trust I had for people, apart from a handful of people, coming back all of a sudden? Why now? When I’ve managed to contain them for the past fourteen years?
I convinced him that wasn’t the reason, and he agreed we would start trying. That was three months ago. Every month it’s been negative or a false positive, giving me false hope. I felt myself closing off, so Striker said we should stop trying to avoid upsetting me more.
I look down with blurry vision and my heart heavy. “I know. I just want us to try again.”
“Baby.” He sighs, kneeling in front of me and taking my hand in his. “I can't watch your heart break again.”
“But-”
“No buts. I can't.” He leans in and kisses my head. “I'm going to freshen up, and I need to go see Dad at the clubhouse.”
I look at him as he walks away. Since having Evan, I can count on both hands how many times we’ve had sex. I can’t help the thoughts that always come through when he leaves me here with the kids to go to the clubhouse.
He's screwing whores. He's never here anymore. My mind starts reeling off all the bad things could be doing when he leaves here. If he’s not getting a sexual release from me, he must be getting it from somewhere.
I take Evan up to his room, put him down for his nap, and walk back down to the kitchen. I breeze past Striker, who’s putting his wallet in his pocket.
“I might be late home tonight.”
Of course you will.
I ignore him and snatch up the empty cup he used this morning and just left sitting for me to pick up and wash. “How fucking hard is it to clean up your shit?”
“Whoa. It's just a cup, Dee.”
“But it's not just the cup, Striker. It's your boots, your leather, your jeans. Your fucking shit is all over the place!” I slam the cup down into the sink, rinsing it, then putting it in the dishwasher and slamming the door closed.
“Come on, what's going on?” I feel him walk up behind me and try to take me in his arms, but I push his hands away.
“No.” I shake my head, taking a step away, busying myself cleaning the surrounding areas. “Just go to the clubhouse. It’s where you've spent most of your time, anyway. Might as well move in there.”
“That's a goddamn lie, and you know it,” he snaps at me.
I know it’s a lie. He’s been here twenty-four-seven for the past month and a half.
“Striker, do me a favor and just leave.” I let out a sigh as the tears begin to burn my eyes. I lean against the sink with my head hanging low.
“Baby, come on...” Striker touches my shoulder, but I shrug it off with a sigh.
&nb
sp; He walks out, leaving me feeling like a bitch for treating him like that when he has been nothing but supportive and helped me with more than looking after our kids. He built the dance studio from an empty shell to match my vision to the finest detail. And this house too. He and the other guys decorated it all and did some major construction while I was waddling around eating everything in sight.
I’m such a bitch.
You need to tell him.
I can’t.
***
Striker
“Hey.” Fran smiles at me but it soon turns into a frown. “What's wrong, Striker?” She hands me a cup of coffee.
“It's nothing.” I decided to drive around for a few hours just to get my thoughts together. Trying to figure out why Daria’s flipping out at the slightest little thing. She won’t talk to me and it’s really starting to grate on me. Every time I try to talk, she jumps on me, and I can’t seem to say no.
“Nothing? Tell that to your sour face,” Nico remarks when he walks over to me. “Some people can't wipe the smile off their face when they have a beautiful woman and two amazing kids they’ve wanted for so long.”
“Fuck you, Nico.” I stand, walking outside.
“Hey, man.” He rushes behind me. “What's going on?”
“Daria.” I see his face fall full of concern. “She's okay. Just not with me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, she's picking at every little thing I do. I left a cup out and she went crazy.”
“Ah. Jess went through this with Ezra.” Nico nods, understanding. “I put the milk carton in the fridge, and she went loco on me because the label was facing the wrong way.”
“Damn. These chicks are crazy, man. How did we end up with them?” I chuckle, shaking my head. But something still niggles at the back of my mind.
“It's just the hormones. Give her time.”
“Do you want me to go talk to her? Maybe she'll open up to me.”
“You sure?”
“Of course. Let me be in the line of fire for once.” Nico chuckles.
“Oh God, you don't want to be on the receiving end.”
“I'll talk to her. How mad can she be?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Daria
I hear the door opening, and I hope and pray it’s Striker coming back. I feel horrible for the way I spoke to him earlier. I mean, it was a cup. A fucking cup. I made it sound like he leaves everything lying around when, in reality, he helps around the house, and with Evan and Emily, more than Jake ever did.
Jake was always away on business, making a living for you and Emily.
“Hey.” Looking up, I see Nico standing in the doorway.
“Hey.” I can't hide the disappointment in my voice as I look back towards the TV and bring the glass of wine towards my lips, draining the glass.
“Drinking during the day?” He eyes the empty glass and wine bottle.
“I’ve had one glass, Nico.” I sigh, glaring at him. He nods, walking towards where I’m sitting. I’ve already had a fight with Striker about drinking a glass of wine when Evan is napping. What’s the harm in one glass in the afternoon?
“Where's Emily?” He sits beside me.
“In her room.”
“Evan asleep?”
“Nico, why are you here?” I sigh, looking at him as he grabs the bowl of popcorn that’s been sitting there for an hour untouched.
“Can't a guy come round and spend some quality time with his sister?”
“Not when said sister was a major bitch to the brother you've known all your life.”
“Daria, you're my sister. My blood. If you're going through shit, I will be here for you.” He takes my hand. Tears spring to my eyes as I look down. “What's going on?”
“Honestly, I'm tired. I'm so tired, Nico.” I sniff. “I'm just tired of my mind going to places that aren't true then taking it out on the first person I see, which always seems to be Striker. Tired of the fight against myself. Tired of feeling that I'm not good enough.” I blow out a breath. “My mind is going to a dark place, Nico. If I go back there…” I pause, trying to work up the courage to say it. “I don't think I can come back from it.”
He doesn't say anything, but he takes me in his arms, hugging me so tight I can feel the broken pieces trying to fuse back together. “You're the strongest woman I know. You've been through so much shit.” He kisses my head, never letting me go. “You just need to realize that we’re all here to help any way we can.”
“I don't feel strong, Nico.” Leaning back, I look at him. “I feel weak.”
“I think Striker feels like you're going to end things with him and take the kids away. He may not say it out loud, but he's petrified that one day you'll get sick of this life, and you'll run.”
“What? I would never.” I wipe my eyes and groan out loud. “God, why am I such a Grade A bitch?”
“Hey, hey. You're not a bitch, Daria. You two just need to start talking more. Talk it out.”
“You're right. We do need to talk more.” I stand. “Can you call Lauren and ask her to look after Evan and take me to the clubhouse?”
He smiles and nods. I run up to our room to freshen up.
I need to get my man.
***
Once we arrive at the clubhouse, I need to work up the courage to go in.
“You go on ahead. I'll be in in a second,” I tell Nico.
“Okay.”
“Thank you.”
He nods and smiles at me.
Okay, you can do this. You can do this. It's just Striker.
Opening the door, I spot Striker straight away, but he's not alone. Fire burns in my veins when I see one of the skanks’ arms around him and her mouth close to his face, like she’s about to kiss him. Over my dead body. My fist clenched, I storm towards him.
“Daria...” Blair's eyes widen from behind the bar. My eyes focus on the bitch that dares even breathe next to my man, never mind have her hands on him.
“So, is she your old lady or just some random you fuck when you need a release?” The whore looks me up and down like I'm something she found at the bottom of her shoe. She rubs Striker’s chest, her hand heading further south. I feel my blood begin to boil over.
“A random who has given birth to two of his kids?” Folding my arms over my chest, I tilt my head to the side, regarding her with a challenging look. She gazes at me, amused, thinking she’s won the top prize of touching him and likely thinking he’ll screw her, until Striker stands up. Her hand slips off him, and she steps back when she looks up at Striker’s face. I can’t see it, but judging by her tight shoulders and her eyes blinking quickly, he’s pissed. She looks over at me, pleading with me to help her.
“Don’t look at her.” Striker sneers down at her in a low, menacing tone. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost. She shouldn’t have touched him. I can see she’s about to cry, so I step forward, placing my hand on his bicep. I hate the look on her face, and because I’ve seen the look that’s currently on his face more than anyone in this room, I know how petrifying it can be.
“Babe, I’m sure she mistook me for someone else.” I raise an eyebrow at her, begging her to just agree with me no matter how ludicrous this sounds, and the fact that everyone knows who I am to Striker. But she’s clearly new around here, so I give her the benefit of the doubt. I don’t want her to be scared. My conscience won’t let me let Striker scare the living shit out of this poor girl who was lost and possibly scared before she landed in this place.
“Ye-yeah. I’m-I’m sorry, Striker,” she stammers. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” She nods and scuttles off to the opposite side of the room. There’s that word again, ma’am. I’m not some fifty-year-old grandma. Jeez.
I look up to sparkling blue eyes staring at me. “I love it when you get all possessive, and damn if my dick isn't as hard as a stone right now, but you do know there will be consequences for emasculating me in front of all the brothers, right?”
“
The poor girl was petrified of you, Striker.” I roll my eyes at him and his stupid consequences crap.
“Yeah. And?”
“And, I’ve been on the other end of that look as many times as you’ve screwed my brains out, and I felt sorry for her. No-one deserves that look.”
“You’re too good for this life, baby.”
“Yeah, maybe. But hey, this is the life I’ve chosen, so I need to deal with it, right?” I look away from him. “I’m sorry for the way I've been acting towards you for the past few weeks. You don't deserve my attitude,” I say softly, unable to look him in the eye.
“Baby, you put up with my mood swings. I get that this life isn't easy, but you make it easier for me. Just knowing you're at home waiting for me is enough for me to stay alive and make me a stronger man.” Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I look him in the eyes and see so much love in them. The feeling of guilt flows through my veins the longer I look at him. Guilt of not telling him everything that’s happened in my past, and that I ever thought he was screwing around on me. The walls feel like they’re closing in on me. I need out of here.
“Excuse me.” I stand, run out to the parking lot, and gulp a lungful of air.
Stop running. You're supposed to talk it out, just like Nico suggested.
“Baby?” Striker says behind me. “Why did you run off?”
“Striker, we need to talk.”
Here goes.
***
Striker
My heart sinks when she says those words, “We need to talk.” That usually means something bad. I don't think I can take it if she says she wants to leave me. As cheesy as it sounds, she's my reason to breathe, and the reason I wake up in the morning.
Her brows close together until they almost join in the middle. “I want to talk about what I'm feeling inside. It's not about you. It's all on me.” She takes my hand in hers. “The snapping at you constantly. I hate myself for it all. The truth is, I'm just picking at every little detail. You've done nothing except be the best father to our kids and you’re the best man a girl could ask for.” She sighs. I stay silent because I don't want her to shout at me for interrupting her. I don't know what to say anyway. “I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm tired of all the fighting in my head, the intrusive thoughts that cause my moods to dip. My mind is going into a dark place, darker than I’ve been before. I'm scared that if I walk deeper into the darkness, I won't be able to find my way out again.” Her head dips forward. Placing two fingers under her chin, I lift her head gently to look at me. “I don't want to be in this headspace anymore, Striker. But I can’t find my way out. I'm afraid that one day you'll look at the kids and me and leave us. That you'll see that you're not built for one woman and sleep with other women while I look after our children.”
Nothing Else Matters (Demons Disciples MC Book 2) Page 23