Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Sleeping on a bathroom floor after lighting the fuse on the fuck-my-life bomb will do that to you.
The shower turns off, and Claire appears through a mist of steam a minute later. Wearing one towel around her torso and another one twisted over her head, she takes tentative steps to the bed and sits. “I know this is a lot,” she murmurs, her head bowed, fingers playing with a piece of thread in her lap.
“Are you even pregnant?”
Lifting her gaze to mine and placing a hand on her stomach, she says, “Yes. About eight weeks.”
“Whose is it?” This feels fucking weird, like I don’t have a right to be interrogating her, and a big part of me doesn’t give a fuck about this or her. But I’m not heartless. I cling to the piece of me that’s still human, earning the love of a woman like Kitty.
“Does it matter?”
No. Yes. I don’t fucking know.
“It really was a one-time thing.” She chews her bottom lip.
“Is it a brother? Most of them are about as sharp as a marble but some can do math.”
“It was an outsider—a stranger in a bar.” She shrugs. “I’m not proud of it, but I want the baby, I’ll be a good mom.”
“I’m not judging.”
“Are you going to tell Jericho the truth?” Getting to her feet, she approaches me and takes my hand, squeezing it between her much smaller ones. “You don’t have to do anything for the kid. Just keep my secret and I’ll keep yours.”
“What does that mean?” It sounds a hell of a lot like a threat.
Dropping my hand, she pauses, then says, “I know the dead guy is a Carnell and how big of a deal that is.”
Taking a menacing step toward her, I grit out through clenched teeth, “So, you know cleaning up the loose ends includes you.”
Chest quivering, her thighs hit the lip of the bed, almost making her topple over onto it.
“I’ll do anything, Cutter. I’m not some rat or enemy. I love this club. It’s my life.”
Yeah, I know the feeling.
“All I ever wanted was to be with Jericho, become an ol’lady. I’d be a good ol’lady, I’ll always be loyal to the club.”
“Don’t ever threaten me again.”
“I wasn’t.” Tears leak from her eyes, panic seizing her throat.
“The kid is mine. We’ll figure the rest of the shit out later,” I declare. If I say it enough, maybe people will believe it.
Her head bobs. “Thank you.”
“You should stay in here today. I have some club business to take care of and it’s better if you’re out of the pres’s way.”
“Okay.”
“Help yourself to a clean shirt. I’ll get Diamond to bring you some food.”
Grabbing some fresh clothes, I slam the bathroom door, foregoing the Kitty shower. I’m too pissed to allow myself to tug my cock to the thought of her when I’m about to shatter her heart.
Changing into the new clothes, I brush my teeth, splash cold water over my face, and finger-comb through the mess of my hair, pulling it back into a ponytail at the nape of my neck.
Claire’s under the comforter sleeping when I come back through.
Closing the door behind me, I avoid the zombies lingering through the clubhouse and head straight for Pres’s office.
I rap my knuckles on the door, and his commanding bark orders, “Get in here.”
Tension hangs thick over the room, a storm cloud waiting to erupt. I was hoping Callan would already be here to play Switzerland.
“I know I fucked up with Claire.” The words fall out of my mouth like a kid scared of being scorned. Being the focus of his anger unsettles me. I’ve looked up to him my whole life. The day he patched me in was one of the best of my life, second to the first time Kitty came on my cock and told me she hated me.
“You been fucking up a lot lately.” I deserve that. “So, what’s your plan? She keeping the kid?” He leans back in his chair, resting his head against clasped hands.
“Yeah, and I think you’re right about her wanting to be an ol’ lady.”
“Then make her one. Give her a ring. Keep her happy. Keep her quiet.” Cracks splinter from my soul, webbing around my heart.
Callan enters the office, drags the chair out, and sits, tapping his phone against his thigh. “Everything good?” he asks, eyeballing us both.
“Fine. We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Here I am.”
Pres drops his hands and leans forward. “This isn’t a business meet. Michael reached out to Callan personally. I haven’t had a request from Senior,” Pres informs me.
Pocketing his phone, Callan says, “We can’t go with numbers. It’ll look like we’re expecting trouble.”
“You’re not going to that house alone,” Pres scoffs, stroking his hand down his beard.
“He won’t be alone,” I interject.
Dark, accusing eyes crinkle around the edges, narrowing on me. “Usually, that would mean something. Today, not so much.”