Chapter Three
Ten Years Later….
D r. Elizabeth Simpson was feeling a terrible, no good, very bad case of the Mondays. On a Wednesday. And she only had herself to blame.
One more shot. One more shot, Tessa’s incessant voice pounded through her already screaming skull.
She’d been invited to Skathi’s baby shower the night before, which—when you consider the purpose of a baby shower—was supposed to be all about the new mom and the coming baby. Fun, cute games with baby themes, soft music, delicate hand foods and fizzy punch, gifts wrapped in pastels and ribbons, and unsolicited advice from moms too happy to provide unwanted stories about their labor experiences. Normal, everyday baby shower stuff. But nooooo . Someone as badass as Skathi Odinsdottir, the ol’ lady of the Savage Raiders MC president, couldn’t just have a normal baby shower. Oh no. Of course not! She had to have a full-on party, complete with drinking— not pregnant Skathi, of course—greasy foods, loud music, drunk dancing on tables, loud and uncomfortable stories about bedroom antics with big, filthy bikers, and—of course—party crashers.
The party crashers being Skathi’s baby daddy, Odin, Tessa’s old man, Fang, Fae’s fiancé, Hawk, and…the asshole, piece of shit, He-Who-Shall-Not-Have-Space-in-Her-Head club Vice President, Trouble.
Thankfully, the crashers hadn’t crashed in until the party was winding down, but that didn’t stop a totally wasted Tessa from pushing Liz to take that last shot, and because Liz was seething from the appearance of Asshole Piece of Shit, she’d let the brassy bitch push her to over imbibe.
And now she was paying for it.
Rubbing her temples, Liz scanned the daily schedule on her phone and cringed.
Dammit.
She had her normal concierge calls to two residences to do regular checkups on two house bound patients. But then…she had to stop in and do a supplies check.
At the Savage Raiders MC compound.
Since being hired as their on-call doctor almost two years ago, after she’d gotten an out of the blue phone call from Odin, she’d been as professional as possible whenever dealing with the club. She’d pushed for a clean and well-supplied medical room so that she wasn’t forced to do minor surgery in a barroom on a pool table, sticky with spilled beer and…. She shuddered just thinking about it. After Skathi, Odin’s woman, was attacked by the MC’s Cartel enemies, and Liz had been called to tend to her, Odin had given her an offer she couldn’t refuse: be the on-call doctor for the Savage Raiders MC, get five grand a month, whether or not she got called, and an additional five grand when she got called to the compound.
Odin hadn’t known it then, but he’d saved her ass. She’d given up her job as a hospitalist at Summerlin in north Vegas, filled with hopes and dreams, for the promise of starting a clinic with her partner. But things hadn’t turned out the way she’d hoped, and she was hurting for money to cover all the clinic costs and make a living wage. Back then, she’d signed on the dotted line, her belly swirling with conflicting emotions. Now, she was stuck being at the beck and call of the very club that had turned her life upside down ten years ago.
Some of the men who’d looked on as her life was torn to pieces were still members. They still looked at her with varying degrees of pity. Some with wariness. At least Tosser and Bonnie were gone. She’d heard that Tosser had died of a heart attack years ago, and that Bonnie had been killed recently. No details, of course, because that was club business .
God, she hated those words. Because to her, club business meant business that damaged lives. So, they could keep their club business to themselves, and she’d just do her fucking job, get the fuck out of there, and wait until they needed her again.
Every minute she spent inside the compound was like acid in her blood. No, it wasn’t the same compound she’d known before, ten years ago when the club was just getting started. But the concept was the same: a place where men were allowed to act like jackasses without consequences. Still, though, she couldn’t say no to the club women, the old ladies, who’d only been welcoming to her. Skathi was a badass, Tessa was a ball-buster, and Fae was such a sweetheart. And they had become her closest friends. She cherished having friends again. Even though their men made her want to throat punch them on occasion.
But she was a professional. She’d been trained to deal with any circumstance.
Including seeing her ex.
The father of her daughter.
And acting like he hadn’t ripped her heart out.
God, it had been ten years, you’d think she’d be over it. She’d moved out of her apartment, she’d cut off everyone even remotely connected to him or his club, she’d moved on, she’d had relationships. And yet Erik—Trouble—still owned real estate in her head. And it was a dilapidated, termite-riddled, fire hazard she wanted to raze to the ground while cackling manically. If she were a man, she’d piss on it, but she was a woman, so she’d just spit on it. Like a fucking lady.
Knowing she had to go to the compound, her day was a test of her patience and focus. She refused to be that doctor , the one who only saw her patients as a paycheck or a medical record number, so she was determined to not let her poor attitude reflect in her work.
It took serious fortitude, copious amounts of caffeine, and a full bar of Gertrude Hawk Dark Chocolate and Peanut Butter, but she made it through the day.
Now, she was sitting outside the compound, having been let through the gates by a prospect, Jack, and was staring at the building through her windshield, cursing.
Just get in there, get the job done, and get the hell out of there.
Easier said than done, especially since she recognized one of the motorcycles parked toward the side of the massive old firehouse building.
The bike was massive and menacing, matte black on black, with a beautifully painted image of the MC’s emblem on the gas tank. The wolf’s head, the battle axes, and the words “The Sons of the Gods” perfectly personified the men she’d met. The men she’d known all those years ago. All of them dogs with god complexes.
She remembered every face of the men who’d been in the bar that day, glaring at her, smirking at her, knowing where she was going and what she was going to face—and not doing a damn thing to stop it. Some would ask her if she was crazy for working with those same men, and she’d be honest, she probably was. Then again, she’d never let them see how much their betrayal had hurt. Now, she was just a professional, doing her job, and getting paid a ridiculous amount to do it. She had a daughter and her daughter’s future to think about, so there was no room for whining about her painful past.
The men in the club seemed to have forgotten all about what they’d done to her, treating her with a modicum of respect, which had thrown her the first time she’d come around after nearly ten years.
She smirked thinking about that. Then again…Skathi, Tessa, and Fae’s men didn’t seem too bad; two of them hadn’t even been around when Liz had been—way back in the beginning of the MC. They treated their women like queens, and they didn’t give any of the club bitches the time of day.
Unlike Trouble.
God, stop thinking about him. He can fuck whoever he wants. He always has.
Sucking in a breath, she knew she had to get out of the car. She refused to let Trouble think that he got to her, that his presence in her life bothered her. They were long over. His betrayal no longer stung. She was over it. Over him.
Now, to tell her heart and mind…and body that.
Fuck him for still being the sexiest asshole she’d ever seen. With his shoulder-length golden blond hair, striking green eyes, the laugh lines that crinkled just right when he smiled, the deep, delicious dimples that not even the perfectly scruffy beard on his face could hide. And…God…his body.
She jerked her head back, realizing where her mind was going.
Ugh. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t go there. He wasn’t hers anymore. Actually…he’d never been hers. She’d given herself to him and he’d been handing out pieces of himself to whichever wet hole he’d wanted. Holes like Bonnie.
Holes like Amelia.
Aaaaand…she was done. Thinking about Amelia only ever made Liz want to chew glass.
Opening the car door and swinging her legs out—and grateful she was wearing her boss-bitch cream slacks, because showing her thick legs at an MC compound never felt right—she hurried toward the back of her gently used dark blue Escalade. She’d bought it that first month she’d started work at VIP, because she’d needed something big for carting around medical supplies, and safe for carting around her most precious cargo.
After grabbing her rolling case of supplies, she headed into the building. Mentally crossing her fingers, she hoped against hope that he wasn’t in the main room drinking or rubbing all over that club slut, Amelia.
Amelia.
Without thinking, she sneered. Damn, she hated Amelia, and it wasn’t because the woman was a club whore. Liz enjoyed spending time with Rosa and Daisy, two other clubwhores. She had no problem with the way they lived and what they did with the club brothers. Liz hated Amelia because Amelia was a bitch. Plain and simple. Rosa and Daisy were fun, sweet, and shared a little too much about what they did with the brothers, but they were always careful to not talk about what they did or had done with Trouble. Not that they knew she and Trouble had a…. troubled history, but they could probably sense there was tension. It wasn’t like she hid her disgust at the man whenever he was around—and he was around. All the freaking time. It was like he had an “ex” radar that pinged whenever she crossed through the gates of the compound.
More like whoever was on gate duty texted him to tell him she was there. Like a warning that the bitch ex was on her way.
Thinking back to that night, the night she’d caught him and Bonnie together…yeah, nothing had changed among the brothers. They were still looking out for their VP, not giving a shit if they made things difficult for her.
Which was why she was surprised he wasn’t lounging in the corner, waiting for her. Waiting to glare at her, or smirk at her, or just stare at her without a single emotion showing on his too fucking gorgeous face. And sometimes…Amelia was there, too, straddling him, or mouth fucking him, or on her knees in front of him, her hand on his belt buckle—
Ugh.
Aaaaand…she was thinking about that slattern again. It made sick sense, though, since Trouble and Amelia were never far from each other, it wasn’t a leap that thinking about one would make the other come knocking on her brain.
Knowing she was working on borrowed time, and remembering she had a mother-daughter date with her baby girl that evening and she didn’t want to ruin her chance at a fun evening by having a run in with her asshole baby-daddy, she hurried through the main room, her red-soled stilettos click-clacking on the hardwood floor as she ignored the looks from Slick and Dragon, and headed toward the hallway leading to the new club medical clinic.
When Odin had approached her with the offer to be the club doctor, and she’d demanded an actual medical room, Odin had come through big time. He’d ordered the rarely used bottom floor office space to be ripped out and remodeled into a pretty freaking awesome medical exam room. There were two beds, medical storage for triage supplies, an x-ray machine, and a high-tech medicine cabinet, complete with state-of-the-art biometric lock. To get to the narcotics inside, you had to have authorization in the form of a thumbprint. The only people with access to the hard drugs were her, Odin, and Trouble. The cabinet was another demand of hers. Odin wanted a complete medical space, which meant high-powered pain meds on hand in case of broken bones, bullet wounds, and the like. She’d pushed back; her experiences as a doctor—and fucking commonsense—telling her that having opioids anywhere near hard partying bikers and their friends was a recipe for disaster. Odin was pissed that she’d had so little faith in his brothers, but she’d persisted. He’d finally caved and installed the cabinet, requiring that he and his VP had access as well.
She grudgingly trusted Odin to not do anything stupid—he was with Skathi, who’d literally kick his ass if he turned into a junkie. Her trust in Trouble, however, was about as deep as a puddle, and just as murky.
Inside the medical room, she moved to the supplies closet, which was as large as a walk-in pantry. There were ten deep shelves, each shelf labeled with the supplies it held, which made it easy for her to catalog and reorder what was needed.
Dragging the rolling case behind her, she opened it and got to work refilling the empty or nearly empty shelves. As she worked, her mind slipped right back to where she never liked going—to Erik. Despite the pain, the humiliation, and the years…he was rarely far from her thoughts, no matter how hard she fought to be rid of him. He’d marked her. And not just because he’d given her a daughter.
Ten years ago, she’d fallen in love with him—love at first sight—and she’d spent months with him, that love growing, deepening. He’d marked her irrevocably, her heart, her soul, her body, her future. And she was a fool.
A fool who never got over him. Over how he’d made her feel those months when things were good.
When things were a lie.
And she would never get over how she felt the night it had all shattered at her feet.
“Surprised to see you up and around,” a voice rumbled from behind her, violently pulling her from her thoughts. It was a voice she knew intimately. A voice that, at one time, would whisper across her ear as the man wielding it made love to her.
Jerking upright, Liz forced indifference onto her face, into her body.
Never let him see….
Sighing, she turned to face the man she’d once loved more than life itself.
Her daughter’s father.
Her gaze slid over the hard, massive chest incased in a black t-shirt that stretched over his muscles like Saran wrap over a pan of brownies—and they looked just as yummy, too. Tattoos snaking up his forearms and thick biceps, made her want to trace the ink images with her fingertips…then her tongue. Dammit! Forcing her gaze away from all that enticing, forbidden deliciousness, she finally looked at his face. And she bit back a gasp.
His brilliant green eyes burned down at her, anger filling his expression with heat that scorched her.
What the hell did he have to be angry at her about?
Indifference! Don’t let him see that he gets to you! Never let him see!
“Pardon?” she asked, thankful that her voice didn’t rasp.
His lip curled into a sneer, which did nothing to distract from just how juicy and kissable said lips were. She’d always been fascinated by the fact that a man who was all man had a set of lips that could rival any female. The bottom lip plump and pouty, the top lip a perfect curve that met the bottom one like to pillows pressed together in a bed. And, Lord, the way his beard and moustache framed his lips, the thick, blonde hair was like a golden stage on which decadent acts of unholy pleasure were performed.
She fought back a full body shudder. God, she really needed to stop thinking about him. About what he’d done to her those long, blissful nights—back before he’d ruined her for any other man.
Erik Skaarsen was ruin. He was trouble.
The sneer on his face flipped to a smirk and she flicker her gaze back to his eyes. They were darkening yet glittering with humor. The fucker knew she’d been staring at his mouth…remembering.
“You, up and around. Didn’t think I’d see you today, not after last night,” Trouble accused, his tone sharp, prodding.
She sighed again, refusing to rise to the bait. He wanted her to admit she was still attracted to him. It gave him power over her.
Hell no.
“Did you need something, Trouble?” she asked, ignoring his remark, and making to turn back and finish resupplying the medical supply closet so she could get the hell out of there.
He stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. She tensed.
This was the first time he’d touched her in ten years. She couldn’t stop the shudder this time, but she was able to fake it as an attempt to shake his hand off.
He did remove his hand, but he did it slowly, his fingers sliding over the fabric of her violet silk blouse, one she’d picked that morning with professional comfort in mind, not a barrier against the touch of a man she despised. His green eyes were darker now, more forest than emerald, which told her that something was working behind his gaze.
But she didn’t care what he was thinking about. They weren’t together anymore. Technically, they never had been, since the asshole had been unfaithful from the start. Only using her to get off because she was easy.
Yeah, she still remembered every word he’d said that night. Every painful word uttered to Bonnie had been etched into her bones. She would never forget.
Anger searing through her, she met his gaze with hers. She pushed blankness, emptiness, apathy into her expression. He would never see the real her again.
Finally, he dropped his hand completely, his smirk gone.
He cleared his throat. “Surprised you were able to crawl out of bed, with as much as you drank last night,” he gritted out through a jaw clamped so tight, Liz wondered if it had been wired shut.
Then his words registered.
Her body tensed, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.
I will not punch him in the face. I will not punch him in the face.
“Pardon?” It was her turn to grit out. “I don’t believe that anything I do is any of your business.”
Not taking his burning gaze from her face, he took a step closer, every taut muscle in his body bunching and flexing with the movement, stealing the breath from her lungs, stoking a fire she wished had burned to embers long ago. He continued toward her, closer, and closer until he was standing centimeters from her, his face above hers, his mouth too close, his heat too overwhelming—but she remained where she was. He would not force her to step back. He would not see her weak. He’d scoured the weakness from her years ago when he’d made her a single mother with the words: “If she ever got pregnant, I’d make her get rid of it. No kids. Never….”
For a beat, he was silent, his eyes never once moving her from face. His green eyes once again shifting from forest green to clear, stunning emeralds. But there was fire there as well…flames that could consume her if she wasn’t careful.
When he spoke, the warmth of his breath brushed over her cheeks…sliding over her lips like a lover’s caress.
“Next time you get that fuckin’ sloppy, I’ll spank your ass,” he growled, his voice guttural, like he was dragging every word over jagged rocks. “And I’ll make sure you like it.”