17. Ivy
SEVENTEEN
IVY
I hum under my breath as I get my daughter ready for the day. My heart feels lighter than it has in a long time, as if that kiss lifted the heavy weight from my chest.
I had no idea it could feel like this. For months, I’ve tried to drag myself out of the dark hole I was tossed into, and Riot pulled me out with one kiss.
I’m not fixed, but the pieces are a little stronger now.
The way he felt against my lips, the way I slept in his arms without the nightmares… everything just feels easier today.
Like I can breathe for the first time.
My phone beeps, and I keep one hand on my daughter’s belly as I reach for it.
Maybe it’s Riot.
I miss him already, and although I was the one who suggested we keep this quiet—only long enough for us to catch our breath—I can’t wait until I can openly be his.
I open the message, and the smile drops from my face, followed by a torrent of terror.
Unknown
You didn’t thank me for the flowers.
Unknown
I didn’t realise you were such a rude bitch.
Unknown
I picked those out specifically with you in mind, Ivy.
I stare at the messages, my scalp tingling as the ice turns solid in my veins. The sinister undertones are barely hidden beneath the clear threat in the words.
My vision wobbles, becoming hazy until I can barely see, and I realise that because I’m crying.
I had no idea Jackson was such a prick. He ignored me for years, kept me dangling on a string, feeding me morsels of hope, and now, he’s mad I don’t want him?
No… he doesn’t get to make me feel this way. I’m not a scared little girl. Maybe I should have thanked him for the flowers, but he doesn’t get to demand that from me.
I swipe my fingers over the screen in jerky motions, my anger boiling. Fuck him. Who does he think he is?
I’m rude? The things you said to me were beyond obnoxious. And you’re being obnoxious now. When did you become such a prick?
I wait for a response, but none comes. Dickhead. I send a message to Dayna and Katie, my anger boiling inside me.
Katie
Nice guys are always pricks.
Dayna
You want me to talk to him?
I consider my answer. If Riot sees the messages, he’ll gut Jackson, and as pissed as I am at him, all I can think about is the little boy I met on the first day of school. Wherever this anger is coming from, it’s not who he is… or was.
No. Just ignore him. He’ll get bored.
Unease prickles along my skin. Men like that don’t get bored. They get more persistent. They get more furious.
I ignore that voice, burying it deep and clinging to the happiness fluttering in my gut. Why should I give Jackson any space today? I don’t want him to ruin my glow.
Riot tossed the flowers anyway. He was so pissed. And then…
He kissed me.
Both Katie and Dayna are typing back instantly. I wait, nervously biting my lip. I don’t need their approval—I meant that when I said it to Riot—but I want them to be excited with me.
Katie
He did not!
Dayna
How the fuck was that not the first thing you said!
Dayna
I bet he kisses like a god.
Katie
Fingers in hair, searing. HOT!
Dayna
Tell me he has a huge cock. I need to believe it. For humanity. It wouldn’t be fair to be that attractive and hung like a chipolata. That’s how hope dies.
We are not talking about Riot’s manhood.
Katie
Manhood? Babe, if you’re touching it, you need to be able to call it what it is.
Dayna
I’m going to need descriptions. Pictures. A sample. Does he have single biker friends who like to fuck and chuck? I don’t need a clinger.
I didn’t think I could ever let a man back into my life, but Riot’s different. He’s home. He’s safety. He’s… the missing half of me. He is my safe harbour in a storm.
Time to steer the conversation out the gutter.
One minute he was ranting about the flowers, and then his mouth was on mine.
Dayna
You’re going to need to tell us every single dirty detail of what went down. Immediately.
So, I do. Not that there are many dirty details, but I give them everything. Every whisper of touch over my skin, every brush over my lips, every heated murmur in my ear. I tell them how I fell asleep on him and how we woke together.
Their excitement and joy at my happiness is beautiful, real, authentic, and I end the conversation feeling whole.
By midmorning, Maylie and Mace have gone out, and Toby’s at school, so the apartment feels quiet.
It’s rare we’re completely alone, but for once, the silence isn’t suffocating. I can feel Riot’s presence in the living room, on the couch where we slept together, in the very bones of the apartment.
Things can never go back to what they were. There’s my life before Riot, and this will be a whole new chapter.
I keep busy, cleaning, doing laundry, taking care of Seren, and I’m contemplating what to make for lunch when my phone beeps.
Riot
Hey, beautiful girl. You and Seren okay?
I alight under those words. Beautiful. He isn’t saying it to be kind, but because he truly thinks it. I do feel it in my soul.
The princess is sleeping. I’m fine. Miss you.
Riot
Miss you too, baby. I got some shit to finish up at the clubhouse and then I’ll come back to you.
Those words, those assurances, soothe the pieces of my soul that never thought I’d trust or love again. I don’t know why he wants me, what he sees in me, but I’m not going to question it.
The intercom buzzes, loud and obnoxious. It shatters the peace so abruptly, it’s like hitting a brick wall at a hundred miles per hour.
May’s been ordering so much baby stuff lately, so deliveries aren’t out of the ordinary, but for some reason, goosebumps prickle along my skin as I stand.
I make sure my daughter is safe before I make my way through the apartment. The front door looms in front of me, and I roll onto the balls of my feet to peer through the peephole.
I recognise the man on the other side. He delivers regularly to our block, so I pull it open with a smile.
“Hey.”
“Delivery for Fernsby.”
He bends down and propped against the wall is a bouquet of flowers double the size of the last one.
I take them awkwardly from the guy and shut the door behind me. They’re beautiful. The blooms are a splash of colour against the paper wrapped around the stems, and they smell gorgeous.
I know Riot is the jealous type, but of course he would buy flowers to stick it to Jackson, and they would be twice the size.
Laying them on the kitchen counter, I grab the card tucked inside the stems and open the envelope.
But there’s nothing written on the card.
I frown, turning it over.
Riot is a man of few words but…
My gaze locks on the printed design on the card and the words. With sympathy .
My vision tunnels and an eerie stillness settles over my bones. All I can hear are my own laboured breaths, whooshing loud in my ears.
Riot wouldn’t send these. I see the threat, feel it clamping around my throat as I stumble back, a metallic taste flooding my mouth.
Among the white roses are lily of the valley. I don’t know how I didn’t notice at first. They were in my mother’s funeral flowers.
My breath hitches as I drag air through my nose, my lungs burning. The storm in my stomach is violent as I stare at the blooms, no longer beautiful but sinister.
My phone beeps, and I pull it out of my pocket. The message sends shards of icy terror into my chest.
Unknown
I hope you like these flowers, Ivy. I took a lot of care picking them.
Unknown
I expect a thank you this time.
The text wobbles and becomes a watery mirage before I can blink my tears back. Not Riot then. He would never send a message so hateful.
Anger flames through my stomach. For years, I wanted Jackson. Years. Now that I don’t want him, he thinks he can torment me, scare me.
Well, fuck him.
Before I can consider the ramification, I swipe my fingers over the screen.
Why the fuck are you doing this? Grow up, Jackson.
The reply doesn’t come right away, but then the dots appear.
Unknown
Who the fuck is Jackson?
Those words don’t sink in for a beat longer than it should take.
Who is Jackson…
My stomach twists, ice and acid burning through my insides.
Realisation dawns slowly, my brain taking too long to unravel the thread I’m hanging onto.
He’s not Jackson.
He’s not Jackson.
And those words, that tone… it’s so familiar. Too familiar. Muscle memory imprinted on the fragile pieces of my soul that I thought I’d glued back together.
It’s not Jackson, and I was stupid for thinking it was. There’s only one bastard I know who tortures for sport.
Only one man who would send funeral flowers and a sympathy card to my home.
The monster I thought I’d escaped.
The monster I should have known I’d never escape.
Who the fuck was that?
You don’t talk to anyone but me.
Stop being a prick-teasing bitch.
Link’s voice is loud over the screaming in my head.
The pounding against my ribs is so violent, so frantic, it feels like my heart is trying to claw out of my chest.
The phone buzzes again, and I open the message. It’s not a text this time, but an image.
The pink teddy bear is in the corner of my daughter’s cot. The same pink teddy bear I’d shoved in the back of my cupboard.
This was taken in my bedroom. In my daughter’s bedroom.
The horror seeing her bed, her safe place, on my phone in full fucking colour has my breath stuttering like an engine misfire. My skin tightens over my bones, too small, too claustrophobic.
They were in the apartment.
I blink the hazy film from my vision. A scream rises in my throat but is cut off by the invisible claws around my windpipe.
A thousand fire ants crawl over my skin as my lungs shrink. I can’t hear anything but the roaring of my pounding blood in my ears.
It beeps again, and I jolt. The phone slips through my fingers and hits the tiles like a gunshot exploding in the silence.
Shit.
I snatch it off the floor, and my stomach hollows. Cracks spiderweb across the dark screen and it doesn’t power up when I try.
What did the message say?
A noise, a creak… something out of place hits my senses like a hammer to the chest.
Seren…
Fuck . Seren!
Through the madness and crushing fear, I sprint. My fear is a living, breathing monster as I blast my way through the apartment, my only thought on reaching my child.
Seren’s lying where I left her, oblivious to the terror blanketing me. A split second of relief is all I have as I snatch her up, holding her to my chest.
Another sound pricks my senses. In the apartment? Outside? My brain is too overloaded to recognise anything other than fear.
I need to get us safe.
Adrenaline floods my body, giving me the strength to run.
I don’t stop to grab anything. I don’t even pull on my shoes. I drag open the apartment door and sprint to the stairs, clinging to my daughter.
Terror nips at my heels even when I make it out on the street. Danger feels close, and my heart is in my throat as I scan for threats.
People stare, and why wouldn’t they? I’m half dressed, panicked and holding a tiny baby.
I need to get to Riot.
He’ll keep me safe.
Rushing to the edge of the road, I throw up a hand, flagging down a taxi.
I step back from the kerb as he pulls in, then I drag the door open.
I barely hear him asking if I’m okay. I’m not. I’m terrified.
He was in our room. Our safe place.
The walls are closing in as I cup my daughter’s head with my hand.
“You need me to take you to the police station?” the driver asks through the partition separating the front from the back.
I close my eyes. “The Untamed Sons Motorcycle clubhouse.”
He stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Because if that message didn’t come from Jackson, then there’s only one other person who would have sent it.
My fucking ex.