2. Ivy
TWO
IVY
PRESENT…
My eyes snap open into suffocating darkness as a scream claws up my throat. I crush it behind my teeth, swallowing it down like poison as my muscles lock.
Fuck .
I fumble for the lamp until my fingers find the switch and light floods the room, chasing away the shadows.
There’s no trace of Link and no monsters lurking at the edge of the room, just mine and Seren’s things.
Home . My sanctuary.
Even though I know I’m safe, the dream lingers, and the fear remains as sharp as a knife. I thought I’d buried that darkness, locked it away somewhere it can’t hurt me, but there’s no escape from my own demons, from my own mind.
My temple pulses in time with the frantic drumbeat of my heart.
It’s not real. It’s been months. Months . And yet those nightmares persist, tossing me right back into hell every time I close my eyes.
I drop my head into my hands, knowing it’ll be a while before I stop shaking and my nerves quiet. The adrenaline dump will leave me exhausted, but at least then I’ll be able to sleep without dreaming.
In the last few weeks, little tendrils of my trauma have been creeping into my mind, poisoning my calm. The memories that are surfacing are devastating. All the things I endured, what I let him do to me, and all the times I was weak play on a loop the second I close my eyes.
He’s not gone—I’m not na?ve enough to believe that—but his absence has given me time to at least catch my breath and heal, or so I thought.
All I did was slap a bandage over the gaping wound, and now, it’s bleeding again.
I thought I was safe.
That space, that illusion of freedom, is because of my brother-in-law and his connection to the Untamed Sons Motorcycle Club. Link might be a monster, but he’s also a coward and bullies only hurt people who can’t fight back. Mace is a threat he can’t win against, and that’s why he’s kept his distance.
But I know my ex. At some point, Link’s need to control me will overtake his fear of Mace, and when it does, he’ll come for me. He’ll come for his daughter too, and he’ll use her to break me.
A whimper from the cot is all it takes for my attention to snap back to the room.
I’m on my feet in a heartbeat, and I force the tension from my body before I touch my daughter. She doesn’t need to feel my pain or my anxiety.
I might be drowning in my trauma, but nothing will ever mark her. I’ll die before I let it. Seren is my light in the dark, the only reason I keep breathing.
Without her, I’m nothing.
My biggest fear was that I wouldn’t be able to love her. I was terrified that the way she was conceived, the brutality of those days under her father’s control, would put an insurmountable wall between us.
Somehow, it hasn’t. Somehow, none of what came before mattered.
Because Seren isn’t his. She’s mine.
When I look at her, I don’t see her father. I see everyone I’ve ever loved. She has Maylie’s eyes, Toby’s mouth, and her colouring is all Mum.
From the first time I held her in my arms, I felt connected, like we were two souls clinging to each other. With that, love flourished and grew, and my past was no longer part of her story.
“I love you, sweet girl,” I whisper into the quietness of the room.
Saying the words aloud chases away the lingering shadows, leaving behind a chill that freezes my bones.
I need my daughter in my arms. Now .
I lower the side of the cot so I can lift her out. Her weight and her baby-smell leaches the residual tension from my body, and I drink it in like the finest wine.
“I wonder what today will bring,” I murmur against her head, pressing a kiss to her soft downy hair as I walk to the window.
Morning light spills over the sprawling city below, the low cloud clinging to the high-rises and church spires.
Mystical and ethereal, it’s both beautiful and creepy. There’s an eerie quietness, a stillness that only exists in these few hours before the city wakes.
It’s my favourite part of the day. There are no expectations, no need to think… just peace, and I crave that more than ever lately.
Adjusting my daughter in my arms, I sink into the nursing chair. My breasts ache, more than ready to let down my milk, and I lift my shirt in preparation.
Seren latches on, her little hand pressed against my skin, and the gnawing anxiety in my gut fades. She’s a bandage on the gaping wounds inside me, but I’ll have to deal with those injuries at some point.
But not today.
When she’s finished feeding , I change her nappy and put her in a cute romper that Riot bought her. There are little lions printed on the soft cream material, and she looks adorable in it, even though it’s too big on her.
I don’t put as much effort into dressing myself. I pull on leggings and a loose-fitting T-shirt that hides my body. Before I had Seren, I spent hours picking out clothes and doing my makeup. Now, I can barely stand to look at myself in the mirror.
Don’t focus on the past.
I try to shove that thought down and pull on the mask I’ve become so used to wearing, but a cavernous pit opens in my chest as I carry my daughter out of our bedroom.
The apartment is quiet, and I ache for the sounds of my family stirring. Loneliness creeps in until I hit the kitchen.
Because I’m not alone.
As if he knew I’d need someone, Riot is standing at the stove, a spatula in his hand, humming a song I don’t recognise. All the fear and doubt drains from me, and that feeling of safety blankets me. I don’t know how he does it, but whenever I’m around Riot, everything seems like it might be okay.
I scan him from head to toe, taking in every part of him and committing it to memory as that ice inside me thaws.
Everything about Riot oozes sin, from his light-stonewashed jeans moulded to his thick thighs to his brown boots worn in a way that says they’re broken in rather than old.
But it’s the inkwork splashed across his forearms that always has my attention. The colours and designs are a story of his life, and one I want to read.
Sensing me, he glances over his shoulder, and a full dimpled smile hits me in the chest like a sledgehammer.
I can understand why so many women fall into his bed so willingly. Cheeky and charming coupled with come-to-bed eyes makes him impossible to resist.
But he still sees me as a kid, even though I’m eighteen and more mature than he’ll ever be.
He sees the darkness that lingers inside me.
The trauma I can’t erase.
“You comin’ in or just gonna keep starin’ at me?”
Averting my gaze, I shift Seren in my arms, ignoring those voices in my head.
“Don’t you have your own home to go to?” My tone is breezy, as if my nerves aren’t lit up like a Christmas tree.
That disarming dimple makes another appearance. “But the welcome here is so warm.”
Sarcastic bastard.
Before I can reach for a chair, he kicks his foot out, hooking it around the leg nearest to him. In an effortless move, he drags it out for me.
Does he know that small act of kindness cracks open my heart a little more?
He’s only kind to you because he loves your sister.
I ignore that voice too. I also ignore how fucking sexy that move was.
“Why are you here so early?” I place a hand under Seren’s bottom and smile as she nuzzles into my shoulder. “Did one of your harem kick you out of bed?”
The thought of him with other women churns my stomach, but I keep my tone light, teasing.
Why does he have to be such a slut?
“Hilarious.” He points the spatula at me as the frying pan spits oil. “Shit.” Grabbing the dial, he turns down the heat and steps back out of the danger zone, but the top of the stove is covered in grease. “Despite what the gossips say—and by gossips, I mean my brother and your sister—I don’t have a harem or a string of women at my beck and call.”
Now I know he’s full of shit, but I let it slide. What does it matter if he’s fucking the entire female population of the city? He’s never going to fuck me.
My cheeks heat at the thought of him lying with me, his arms wrapped around my body, just holding me.
Safe and happy.
Loved .
All things I’ll never be.
I never believed I’d feel anything for a man after what Link did to me, but Riot awoke something I thought I’d buried.
Hope.
Desire.
A need for more than just surviving.
“Did you just come here to eat?” My voice is thin, low, and wobbly.
Don’t let him see behind the mask.
I rebuild my walls brick by brick until I feel strong enough to look at him.
“No.” He sounds wounded. “I wanted to see my girls.”
My stomach sinks. Every time I steel my heart, he lands another blow. He doesn’t mean it the way I want him to. He’s just being his usual charming self, and that’s worse.
“Liar,” I murmur, ignoring the pain blooming beneath my ribs.
He lifts his gaze, pinning me with his boyish charm, and I swear my heart stops.
“I’m not lyin’. I wanted to see you and Seren.” Hope ignites in my chest. Me and Seren. His girls. “And since there was no food in the clubhouse, I figured I could see you both and eat. Multitasking at its finest. I’m streamlining my day, Vee.”
Vee.
He’s never called me that before. Was it a slip of the tongue? A mistake? And why do I like it?
“You should just move in.” I throw it out casually then panic. Shit . Why did I say that? Just invite him to share your room, why don’t you? “What I mean is, you’re here all the time anyway,” I backpedal, heat creeping up my neck, “and you’re clearly not taking care of yourself at the clubhouse. You can’t survive on no food.”
Stop talking, Ivy.
“And leave Casa del Clubhouse?” He scoffs.
He’s been staying there for the past two months, but I don’t know why. He could easily afford his own apartment.
“You can’t enjoy living there, Riot.”
I wish he would move in. I love our evenings curled up on the sofa, watching movies while Seren sleeps. I love him being here when I wake up. I love his infectious laughter and his goofiness too.
I love that I don’t feel scared when he’s here.
“Ain’t all bad. It’s not far to stumble to bed after a skinful, and it’s free.”
I bark a laugh, settling into the normality of the conversation. “You think Mace would ask you for rent money?”
“No, but I’m too old to share with my brother.” I raise a brow at him, and he scoffs. “You’re different.”
“How? I’m sharing with my entire family.”
“Because, Vee, you’re barely an adult, and you just had a baby.”
He reduces me to two feet tall with just those words. Face it, he’s never going to see you as anything other than Maylie’s little sister.
Why do I hold on to this hope that he will? He has his pick of women, and I’ll bet the girls he fucks aren’t as broken as me.
“Hey…” He hooks a finger under my chin, and suddenly, everything feels too big, too raw. Don’t cry. Fuck, don’t cry. His face crumples. “Shit. I’m an idiot. Forget whatever I said to upset you.”
“It’s just the hormones.” The lie burns my tongue. “I’m sorry.”
His finger stays under my chin, his gaze scanning my face. He doesn’t believe me, and it’s times like this that I hate how easily he reads me.
“You’re right, though.” I clear my throat, pulling away from him. “I’m an adult and I can’t live on my sister’s charity forever. I need to think about mine and Seren’s future.”
Whatever that looks like.
A ripple of anxiety spreads through me. I don’t want to live alone. I like having my siblings around, but Maylie deserves to be free of me and Toby. The burden of taking care of us shouldn’t be a life sentence.
“May’s looked after you for the last four years. You expect her to stop doing that just ‘cause you turned eighteen?”
She’d lose her shit if she heard me talking like this, but he’s right?—
I am too old to live with my sister.
“No, but?—”
“No buts.” His tone is firm. “Family takes care of each other, darlin’. And you ain’t in a position to be independent without makin’ life harder than it needs to be. Let people take care of you.”
It’s meant to be sweet, but it leaves a sticky, ugly feeling behind. “I don’t want to be carried.”
“You’re not. You’re focusin’ on what matters—raisin’ Seren. Just because I don’t want to live with my brother doesn’t mean it’s wrong for you.”
He steps away, leaving a cold ache behind. I hate the pity in his eyes and the sympathy I don’t deserve.
“You’re burning the food.” My words are terse, my helplessness coming out as anger. My emotions are pinballing today, and I hate it. It makes me feel out of control.
He swings back to the frying pan, dragging it off the heat with a curse. “Shit.”
“Do you need some help?” It smells awful.
“No,” he waves me off, “I got this.”
We slip into a comfortable silence while he serves up the food. I raise my brow as he slides the plate in front of me. It’s a decent attempt at a full English breakfast, even with the bacon being almost charcoal.
“This looks good.”
“Why do you sound so surprised? I can cook.”
“I know.” I pick up my fork in my free hand, holding Seren tight with the other, and cut awkwardly into the sausage.
Riot watches me for a second before he says, “Pass her here.”
“I can eat and hold her,” I protest. “I’ve become pretty good at that.”
“I know you can.” He flashes his fingers in a ‘give me’ motion. “Your food’s goin’ cold.”
It’s not unusual for him to do things like this, but it makes my throat tight this morning.
I pass her over, and her fingers tangle in his beard the moment she’s close enough to grab him. My heart melts when he presses a kiss into her hair.
I wish Riot was her father.
I slam the door shut on that thought. There’s no point wishing for things that can’t be. I don’t have a time machine or an undo button for shitty mistakes.
“At least someone’s happy to see me this mornin’.” He picks up his fork, hacking at the fried egg on his plate.
I cringe at the mess he’s making. “I’m happy to see you.”
And I am. He has no idea how much it makes my day to see him.
“Your shitty mood says otherwise.”
My mood isn’t because of him, but I don’t feel like explaining my nightmares. No one know about the monsters that chase me through my dreams.
No one ever will.
“I’m in a perfectly good mood,” I protest.
“Clearly.” He watches me while he chews, and I wither under his scrutiny.
“What?”
“Nothin’. Just tryin’ to figure out when this good mood is supposed to make an appearance.”
I roll my eyes. “Probably around the same time as your culinary skills.”
He snorts. “That was low, and there’s nothin’ wrong with my food. You’re eatin’ it, ain’t ya?”
“You like the taste of slightly burnt?”
“It’s only the bacon,” he objects, pulling his chin up to avoid Seren’s fingers.
“Fair. And points for effort, even if your motivation for cooking was selfish.”
“A man’s gotta eat, Vee.” He shrugs. “And you ain’t eating nearly enough considerin’ you’re breastfeeding.”
Thank fuck he chooses that moment to look down at my daughter because him talking about my boobs has my face flaming. I focus on cutting into my food, trying not to combust or die from embarrassment.
Say something before it gets awkward…
What the hell am I meant to say? Thanks for caring about… my milk?
My brother chooses that moment to make an appearance, and I could kiss him for such perfect timing. Stretching like a bear coming out of hibernation, he yawns and heads straight for the kettle.
“Mornin’,” Toby grunts.
His transition from boy to teenager has been a whirlwind adventure, but lately, he sounds more like Mace and Riot than his school friends.
He also looks like he slept in a bush. His hair is messy, and his pyjamas are rumpled.
Completely oblivious to the tension he just bulldozed his way through—at least on my part as Riot seems unfazed—he switches the kettle on and peers into the pans on the stove. “Somethin’ smells good.”
“Help yourself, kid,” Riot says, pointing with his fork. “There’s plenty to go around, and the bacon’s only slightly burnt.” He smirks at me as he says this, and my stomach somersaults.
“I don’t care,” Toby says. “Food’s food.”
“See?” Riot fires this at me, but I don’t dare to look at him as I spear my sausage.
Seeing him hold my daughter, being kind to my brother, and worrying about whether I’m eating enough unravels what’s left of my composure.
And it makes me wish for a life I can’t have.