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  Cox both sighed and shuddered. “Yeah, dude, I know,” he said, then added rather piteously, “but Kami won’t fuck me and if I don’t drain this motherfucker on the regular, I’m gonna fuckin’ die!”

  “Goddamn it,” Jase muttered, shaking his head. “Why the fuck are you always tellin’ me this shit?”

  Cox turned to face him fully then, his expression suddenly serious. “So you stop staring at Dorothy, wishin’ for shit you lost a long-ass time ago and ain’t never gonna have again.”

  Chapter Eight

  It was evening by the time Preacher and his men had arrived, and by that time most of the club had cleared out. Only a handful of Horsemen remained, and other than Tegen and me, the women had all gone home to their children.

  To my dismay, Preacher had stormed inside the club, covered in snow and looking righteously pissed off. Seeing this and fearing the worst, thinking that something had changed his mind and he was no longer on board for whatever plan Deuce had come up with to get Hawk home safely, my stomach had painfully knotted. So instead of going forth to greet him, I waited in the background with bated breath as Deuce and his boys came out to greet their guests.

  “Who the fuck in their right fuckin’ mind puts a fuckin’ motorcycle club in the middle of goddamn Alaska?” Preacher bellowed. “You assholes have to be outta your fuckin’ minds! How much ridin’ time you get around here? Two fuckin’ months a year?”

  Cage had laughed, Deuce had glared, and Mick had flipped him off. Several rounds of insults were traded as well as handshakes and slaps on the back, and all the while relief was shuddering from my lungs. Suddenly feeling relaxed enough to do so, I stepped forward to extend my welcome.

  “Preacher,” I said, smiling as I held out my hand.

  His grin was that of a dirty old man with pleasure on his mind, and as he took my hand, he pulled me into a hug that ended with him taking hold of my backside and squeezing.

  “You free tonight, sweetheart?” he whispered in my ear. “Always did love myself a redhead.”

  Laughing, I wrestled myself out of his arms. “I’m only two years older than your daughter,” I scolded.

  His grin growing, Preacher’s head tilted to one side as he looked me up and down. “Haven’t been with a woman my own age since—”

  One of his men, an older man named Tiny who was anything but, slapped him on the back. “Fucker, you ain’t never been with a woman your own age.”

  Preacher spread his arms out wide in an apologetic gesture and shrugged. “There you have it.”

  Eva’s father was closing in on seventy, and the years of heavy smoking and drinking had begun to take a heavy toll on his once handsome features. His long hair that once had been brown was now a deep shade of gray, the deep grooves lining his face were more pronounced than ever before, but most noticeable was the change in his stature; his now imperfect posture and significant loss of muscle mass gave him an overall appearance of shrinking.

  As I studied him, I couldn’t help but be reminded that my own parents were around his age, which made me think of the lie I’d told Christopher. I found myself wondering how they were faring, if they were sick or in need of extra support. Almost immediately, I shook away my thoughts. This wasn’t the time for trips down memory lane that would only further the already excessive load of emotions I was barely keeping in check.

  Cage appeared to my right, his heavy arm landing across my shoulders. “Keep those dirty hands of yours off my mom,” he said teasingly. Tegen, who’d materialized on my left, put her hands on her hips and pinned Preacher with a glare. “Seriously,” she hissed. “Don’t fucking touch her.”

  Preacher waggled his eyebrows at Cage. “It’s the red hair,” he said, giving Tegen a greasy smile. “Spitfires, all of ’em. Lucky little bastard.”

  Before Tegen had the chance to start running her mouth and getting herself into trouble, I looped my arm through hers, shot the men a brilliant smile, and dragged my daughter across the room.

  As the men retreated to Deuce’s office, I led her to one of the couches.

  “Pigs,” she muttered and dropped down beside me. She made herself comfortable, sprawling out across both the couch and me, and let out an irritated sigh.

  I gave her a thorough once-over from her long braids, the thickly rimmed glasses framing her catlike eyes, down her heavily tattooed arms and long, lithe legs to the tips of her tattooed feet that were currently taking up residence on my lap.

  As I studied her, with her many and largely colorful tattoos, I couldn’t help but think that she was as colorful as the artwork that covered her body. Tegen was a rainbow of a woman, faults and all. A surge of pride welled up inside me. I’d made this beautiful, colorful, strong woman, and no matter how it had ended between her father and me, no matter that she wasn’t a result of love, I loved her fiercely all the same.

  “You look good,” I mused out loud, giving her ankle a light squeeze. “Happy and healthy.”

  Cracking an eyelid, she twisted her lips. “Is that a nice way of telling me I look fat?”

  “No,” I said with a laugh. Although her once too-thin frame had rounded out rather nicely, she was the furthest thing from fat. “It’s a nice way of telling you your size-four jeans suit you better than a size zero.”

  “Six,” she muttered. “I’m a six now. See what that fucker did? Made me fat.”

  “Happy,” I said, rubbing her calf affectionately. “Cage makes you happy. Big difference.”

  She snorted, looking amused, but her expression quickly shifted and suddenly she pushed herself upright and pulled her legs from my lap.

  “He wants kids, you know?” she whispered. “But I’m . . . I don’t think I do. He’s so good with them, too, and if he wants them he should get them but . . . ugh, Mom, I don’t think I can do it.”

  There was raw fear in my daughter’s eyes, something that I knew could be attributed to me and my bad parenting, for never being there for her when she’d needed me most. She didn’t know how to be a mother, because she’d never truly had one growing up.

  “Tegen—” I started, but was quickly interrupted.

  “No, Mom, I know what you’re thinking and it’s not that. I’m not scared of being a mom, or of not being able to be a good mom. I’m scared of becoming a mom and losing everything that makes me . . . well . . . me. But mostly, I’m scared of losing Cage.”

  Her admission caused her features to twist with shame, and her gaze dropped to where her hands were clasped together in her lap. “It’s fucking selfish,” she mumbled. “I know it is. But I don’t want to be like these other women who have kids and suddenly their men aren’t interested anymore. Sometimes I feel like that’s all that keeps Cage and me together . . . the fact that he doesn’t ever know what to expect from me, because, shit, most of the time I never know what to expect from me. But if we have children, I have to be dependable. I won’t get to be me anymore, and what if—”

  “Stop it,” I snapped. “Tegen, Cage West was a whore if I ever knew one, and a man like that doesn’t marry a woman just because he finds her interesting. He marries a woman because he’s finally found the one that made him reevaluate his whorish ways and want to toss in his whoring towel.

  “And,” I added quickly, “I’m sure Cage wouldn’t mind if you suddenly became a little less . . . interesting.”

  Tegen’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits. “Is that a nice way of telling me I’m too interesting?”

  I shrugged and smiled. “It’s a nice way of telling the daughter I love and adore that she can be a little too loud and a lot too mouthy sometimes.”

  Tegen laughed, a sound I’d never grow tired of hearing. Leaning back into the buttery-soft leather, I laughed with her until we both fell into a companionable silence. Once again, she rested her legs across mine and I hugged them tightly to me. Time passed by slowly after that, while we waited for the men, and eventually Tegen’s eyes began to close.

  When she was sound asleep and softly sno
ring, I gently moved her legs and slid off the couch. Pressing my ear against Deuce’s office doors, I found the men still engaged in conversation. Not wanting to intrude, I wandered off through the dark and silent hallways, dragging my fingertips along the smooth wall until I came to a stop outside the door I hadn’t realized I was seeking.

  Like most of the boys’ rooms, when they weren’t at the clubhouse, it was locked. But I wasn’t looking to go inside. Aside from the basement, a room I’d never been allowed in, I was well acquainted with all the rooms, had spent years inside each of them, cleaning up after the occupants.

  But this room wasn’t just any room.

  This was Hawk’s room.

  Pressing my palms flat against the grooved wood, I leaned forward, resting my forehead on the door and thought back to the day I entered this door, and everything changed . . .

  • • •

  Last night had been a mistake. A stupid drunken mistake.

  While drinking heavily, reeling with self-pity after Jase had left for home, Hawk had caught me unaware with his surprising intentions.

  And in my sorrow-drenched state, I’d done the unthinkable.

  Now, apparently Hawk had thought he had some claim over me, thinking he could demand that I meet him in his room.

  Oh, I would be meeting him in his room, all right. Not for some sordid rendezvous, but to tell him exactly where he could shove his line of thinking.

  I stormed through the club’s back hall and when I reached Hawk’s bedroom door, I didn’t bother knocking. As far as everyone in the club was concerned, I was only here to clean. Grasping the doorknob, I pushed inside, quickly closing the door behind me.

  I looked over the bare walls, the plain and minimal furniture, the lone book sitting atop his dresser, before coming to a stop on the man himself. Leaning against the window ledge, he had one arm across his chest, his hand tucked into his armpit, while the other brought a cigarette up to his mouth.

  “Why?” I demanded shakily. “Why are you doing this? Is this funny for you? Is this some sort of sick game?”

  After stubbing his cigarette into an ashtray, Hawk pushed himself away from the window. Folding his arms across his chest, he looked me directly in the eyes. Darkly intense and unwavering, sheer dominance radiated from his eyes, making me feel even smaller, not just in size, but worthless in comparison.

  “Woman,” he said, his voice a deep, rolling rumble. “I don’t play games.”

  “Then what?” I demanded. “You just figured I’d be easy, because why? Because I’m a whore!”

  The corners of his mouth began to curl. If he were anyone else, I would have thought he was smiling, but Hawk didn’t smile and the expression was anything but lighthearted; it was pure menace.

  “You’re not a whore.” He practically growled the words. “I don’t fuck with club whores.”

  His admission gave me pause, forcing me to think back throughout the past few years, trying to place Hawk with any one of the girls that were or had been regulars at the club.

  Every so often he’d make a lewd comment to one of the boys, take part in their sordid stories, and he’d definitely flirted with the girls around the club, that much I knew for certain. They’d sat in his lap, he’d done his fair share of groping, but never once could I recall a woman exiting his room. Unlike the other men, with the exception of only a few, their bedrooms were usually littered with the remnants of a long night of partying. But not Hawk’s. Never Hawk’s.

  In fact, Hawk usually kept to himself. Aside from his club obligations, I’d only seen him sharing in the occasional drink with Ripper, and quick, quiet conversations with Blue.

  With this new knowledge, I felt myself deflating, my anger receding as confusion quickly took its place.

  “Why?” I whispered, shaking my head. “Why me?”

  I truly didn’t understand his interest. Compared to the women around the club, or even half the women in town, I was plain. Plain and boring.

  Several moments of silence followed and then he began walking toward me. I stared, watching as he grew closer and closer, noting that suddenly everything about him seemed . . . different somehow. The way he looked at me, the way he held himself. All that formidable muscle no longer seemed bulky but perfectly aligned with his body, his movements sleeker and smoother.

  He stopped just before me and, unsure of his motives, I held my breath, my heart pounding an unsteady rhythm in my chest. I didn’t know what to expect, and certainly not what happened next.

  Grabbing hold of my bicep, he shoved me in front of him and began pushing me forward. I was too shocked to fight him and simply allowed him to force me across the room where he pushed me up against the window. His arms came down on either side of me and his body pressed against mine, caging me in.

  “Look at your man,” he growled.

  Hawk’s room was located on the far side of the hall, but from his window I could see the party, still in full swing. While some partygoers still stood in small groups, most were now crowded around the picnic tables, filling their plates with the food I’d prepared only hours ago.

  I found myself wondering if someone had finished making my macaroni salad . . . until I saw him. Standing beside his wife, Jase’s arm was slung across her shoulders while he gestured wildly with his free hand, emphasizing whatever it was that he was discussing. Beside him, Chrissy’s smiling face was upturned, utterly focused on her husband.

  She really was a truly beautiful woman. Her body was tall, sleek, and toned; her skin was perfectly tanned, and her long auburn hair always curled to perfection. She didn’t need makeup or tight clothing; she didn’t need anything to enhance how beautiful she was. She just simply was.

  But her beauty wasn’t why I was staring. What drew me was how comfortable they looked with each other. The two of them, perfect human specimens, talking, smiling, all without a care in the world.

  Hot, humiliated tears began to fall from my eyes and slid down my cheeks.

  Where did I fit in?

  Any other day, I would have wrote it off as Jase playing the part of the loving husband for the sake of his children. It was something I’d told myself many, many times before. But after today, after last night, I couldn’t seem to truly convince myself of anything.

  What was wrong with me that I’d actually thought I could have Jase for myself?

  There was no room for me here. I was the other woman. The whore. And why Jase even bothered with me when he had all that—a beautiful wife, a happy family—suddenly didn’t make any sense at all.

  Was I a joke to him? Did he pity me?

  Had he only ever wanted a quick, easy lay, but later when he was done with me felt in some way obligated? All while I continued to put myself through this hell, letting everyone treat me like a lesser being, waiting on the sidelines for something that might never, would probably never happen.

  I tried to turn away, to push back against Hawk, but his weight and his strength brooked no movement.

  “Don’t that shit piss you off, D?” Hawk’s face was bent to mine, his breath hot and smelling of cigarettes as it breezed past my cheek. “Knowin’ that he’s goin’ home to her, takin’ her to bed.”

  “Don’t,” I whispered hoarsely. “Don’t do this to me again.”

  “Look at the way he’s touchin’ her,” he continued. “Doesn’t exactly look like a man who’s plannin’ on leavin’, does it?”

  I couldn’t answer him, I couldn’t speak, I could no longer even see. Tears were welling and falling, faster than I could blink them away, and if I spoke, I knew I’d only sob.

  Everything hurt, so much more than ever before. After last night, and now this, God . . . I . . . I was so . . . so . . .

  I was so damn angry.

  No, I was so much more than angry. I was humiliated and hurt, and all of it was bubbling up inside me, everything I’d kept hidden for far too long was rising to the surface. I couldn’t hold back, not anymore. My fears had turned to fury, and my pai
n had turned to rage. It was all there and Hawk was forcing me to see it, and with nothing or no one to soothe me, it had begun to boil over, leaving me shaking inside and out, craving an outlet.

  “Stop!” I cried, twisting in his hold. “Stop . . . I can’t . . . I can’t!”

  He allowed me enough space to turn and then he was back, his body pressing up against mine. I panicked then, shoving against him, beating my hand wildly against his chest. It was a useless battle. Three times the size of me and far stronger, Hawk simply grabbed hold of my wrists and pinned them high above my head.

  “I’ll scream!” I cried.

  “Why?” he asked, sounding bored.

  Through my tears, I blinked up at him. “What?” I whispered.

  “Why?” he repeated. “So you can go cry some more? Go back to feelin’ sorry for yourself?”

  I didn’t have a ready answer.

  “I know you,” he continued. “Wantin’ everything, gettin’ none of it. I get that. Hell, I feel that too. You don’t know shit about me, but I know you. Fuck, I know you better than you know yourself.”

  He released me and all at once began backing away. Stopping in the center of his room, he gripped the hem of his black T-shirt, pulled the threadbare material up over his head, and tossed it aside. Then he kicked off his boots, sending them flying across the room where they hit the wall with a loud thud. Then in one fluid movement, Hawk had removed both his leathers and boxers.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered, suddenly breathless.

  “Givin’ you somethin’,” he said.

  Giving me something. That was all he’d said.

  I stared at him, both terrified and fascinated.

  “Last night was a mistake,” I whispered and dropped my gaze, a last attempt at trying to convince myself of just that.

  “Ain’t no such thing as mistakes,” he said. “There’s only shit that happens and shit that don’t.”

  Raising my eyes, I found Hawk’s expression unchanged. He stood there, naked as the day he was born, as stoic as ever. And, good God, was he infuriatingly cryptic, and . . . naked! He was still naked! But even as shocked as I was at his brazenness, I found myself looking him over rather thoroughly. His thick arms, his broad chest, a pair of thighs that could crack walnuts, all covered in dark, shadowed tattoos. But mostly I found myself staring at the erection, jutting out tall and proud between his legs.