Chapter Six
T rouble threw back the last of his Wild Turkey bourbon, and slammed the empty glass on the scuffed, scratched, yet polished to a gleaming shine bar top of the Savage Raiders MC clubhouse.
Amelia, the top bitch of the clubwhores, and his usual choice of fuck, rubbed her large, fake tits on his arm, begging for a repeat of that morning when he’d woken up hungover, angry, and found himself in need of a rage fuck. She’d been more than willing to follow him back to his room, bend over the bed, and take his cock like a good little fuck toy taking on her master’s temporary mania.
But tonight, he couldn’t stomach the thought of sticking his dick in her again. Just the feeling of her body against his made his skin crawl and his stomach twist.
What. The. Fuck?
Not that he needed to question why he wasn’t up to taking Amelia back to his room; images of another woman were filling his head, overflowing into his body, wrecking him. Like they always did when he got too close to her. When he looked too long at her. When he took that long, lonely trip down Memory Lane to when she was his. And he was hers. Back before things went to shit.
But he only had himself to blame. It didn’t matter that what he’d done, he’d done for her—not that he’d ever tell her that. Not that she needed to know he broke her…broke himself…broke them so that she would have a life she deserved. A life he couldn’t give to her—not ten years ago, anyway.
And God…did she hate him. He wasn’t fooled by the indifference in her gaze, the way her body got tight whenever he was near, not how she spoke like a fucking medical robot whenever he was in the room. He knew there was still that…chemistry between them. A combustion that he’d never felt with anyone else. But he couldn’t go there, not with the good doc. She was off-limits.
Yeah, but you wanna touch her. Wanna see her light up under your hands…just like she always used to.
Fuck!
He scrubbed his hand down his face and groaned.
That morning had been a goddamn shitshow—like someone had thrown a hand grenade into a chicken coop. Mess every-goddamn-fucking-where.
Since Odin, in his infinite wisdom and dark humor, hired Liz to be the club doctor, Trouble had been living on the edge of fucked up. Tense as shit all day, waiting for her to walk through the clubhouse doors to tend to the brothers, or to spend time with the old ladies—who all seemed to love the shit out of her. It wasn’t hard to love a woman like Liz. He knew that deep down in his black fucking soul.
That morning, he’d been so focused on getting the pain meds and getting back to Amelia to get her out of his bed, out of his room, that he hadn’t noticed that the med room door was already open. Usually, the door was shut, per Doc Liz’s orders, but that morning was open, and Liz was inside.
He’d been surprised to see her there; she’d been drunk as hell the night before, when the old ladies threw the club queen a baby shower. At first, he’d been worried about Liz getting home safely, but Skathi had calmed him down when she said Liz had an Uber waiting at the gates. After the party the night before, he assumed Liz would take the day off to nurse her hangover, but no, not his Liz, who never once took a day off all those months they’d been together. Liz was a one-of-a-kind woman; hardworking, strong, determined, loyal…and hot as fuck.
And she’d once been mine….
No. He couldn’t think of that. Couldn’t think of the fact that he’d burned them to the ground, that the woman he’d seen that morning was no longer his to touch. To kiss. To feast upon. And, goddamn, did she look delicious as hell in those ass-hugging pants and fuck-me heels.
Some would consider Liz plus-sized—her thighs touched, her ass jiggled when she walked, she had a belly, and she’d once worn a size 12 pants…but the moment he’d felt all that softness hit his chest, and looked down and saw those stunning blue eyes go wide when she’d slammed against him that first night in the shitty bar, he’d wanted her. So fucking bad. And there hadn’t been a day in their months together that he hadn’t hungered for her. She’d been it for him, and he hadn’t given a shit what anyone said about the muscled badass with the plump co-ed. Anyone looking would say they didn’t fit, but…behind closed doors, in their hours together, just the two of them, he’d fallen so damn hard, so quickly, it had turned him inside out.
Not much had changed in ten years.
She’d filled out over the years; her ass was still plump and fine, her hips were a little wider, and her tits were bigger, fuller. She was still as cock-riling with her curves, silky hair, and unique face—a face that wasn’t traditionally beautiful but still made you look. Made you stare. Stole the breath from your lungs when her bright blue eyes darkened with passion or lit up with laughter, and her lips were swollen from kisses and cock suckin’. And her creamy skin was flushed pink in desire, her big tits jiggling as she panted with pleasure—
Shit.
His cock took that moment to wake up, pressing against the inside of his jeans.
Amelia, her gaze on his crotch, assumed his hard on was for her, and pressed into him harder, and her hand dropped to his belt buckle, more than ready to undo his fly and suck his dick out in the open. And usually, he’d let her. He didn’t give a shit who was watching. But after that afternoon….
“Not tonight, sugah,” he rumbled, thankful that just then Odin stepped into the room, signaling for him to follow.
Thank fuck. Hopefully, Odin had something Trouble could do to keep his mind off of all the angry, regretful, painful shit twisting through him—body and soul.
Pushing Amelia off, he ignored her angry huff, and turned and followed his prez out the door toward the man’s massive matte black on black Ram truck. He was ready to get the fuck out the clubhouse and do something that would get his mind off of all the shit living in it. Wallowing in it.
With the hell that had gone down with the Calderone Cartel, Fang’s Hive drama, and the news from the Stonecutters, he was ‘bout ready to drink and fuck himself into a coma. But he couldn’t do that. He was the VP of the Savage Raiders MC, and that fucking meant something, even when it didn’t. Even when the demons from his past rose up to clamp their icy cold hands around his ankles to drag him back into the pit of memories, agony, and humiliation.
Throwing open the passenger door, he climbed up and onto the seat, slamming the door behind him with a little more force than necessary.
“Fuck man, mind the brutality. This beast is on two months old, and I’d like it to still be like new when my little man gets here,” Odin grumbled.
Trouble grinned, happier than a pig in shit for his prez, his former commanding officer in the US Army Rangers. His best friend.
“How much longer until your Valkyrie pops?” he asked, using the club name for Odin’s ol’ lady, Skathi.
“Too long. She’s ready to go now, though, says she’d rather give birth to him now than try to push a ten-pound baby out of her body.” He snickered. “I don’t blame her.” He winced, more than likely picturing himself trying to push a watermelon out of his cock.
Trouble was picturing the same thing, and it was fucking awful.
Cringing, he watched as Odin pulled the truck out of the compound gates and pointed the hood toward town.
He opened his mouth to ask him where they were going, and then ask if they could first stop off at Delicious, the club-owned strip club, for a lap dance or two—though the Prez would bow out and leave his VP to his own debauched devices, when the loud ring of the Odin’s phone through the Bluetooth speaker blasted through the cabin.
Trouble grit his teeth at the name displayed on the digital screen embedded in the truck dash.
DR. LIZ CALLING….
What did she want? Wasn’t she supposed to be out on a hot date? His jaw hardened, hating that he hated she was out with some asshole. He shouldn’t care that another man was wining and dining Liz…his Skizzy. But he fucking did. Who was it? Was he good to her? Did he treat her right? Liz deserved a man who would treat her like a queen, especially since so many people her in her life had treated her like trash.
Like me.
After that afternoon, and the gutting she’d delivered, he didn’t know if his heart could stand the sound of her voice.
Suck it up, bitch. You brought this shit on yourself.
And, boy, had he.
Hitting a button on the display, Odin greeted, “Doc, what can I do for you this evening?”
Silence. Leaning forward, Trouble tilted his head, listening for any sounds from the other end of the line. Still silence. Had the call disconnected? No…it was still all green for “go.”
Trouble sat up straight, a pang in his chest echoing down into his guts. For as long as he’d known Liz, he’d known that woman wasn’t silent. She could fill the somber solitude of a cemetery with enough commentary to raise the dead. If she was silent, something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong. All the hair on his arms stood on end as apprehension trilled over him like someone struck a bad chord on his spine.
“Hello?” Odin tried again. “Doc?”
A soft, quiet voice whispered over the line, “H-hel-lo?”
Odin and Trouble both turned to each other, their eyes wide, their bodies tense.
That definitely wasn’t Dr. Elizabeth Simpson.
“Hello, there,” Odin greeted, softening his voice. “Who is this?”
Silence.
“You there, little lady?”
“Is…is this Mr. Odin?” the little voice pleaded, making Trouble’s heart skip a beat.
“Yes. Who is this? Why are you calling from Dr. Liz’s phone? Is she okay?”
A sob sounded over the line, and Trouble was shook, right down to his core.
That couldn’t be good.
“Darlin’, is there someone there who can talk to me?” Odin coaxed gently.
“N-no. It’s just me and Mama,” the little voice answered, and Trouble’s entire body vibrated.
Mama?
Liz was a mother?
Odin, his face unreadable, continued, “Can we talk to your mama, sweetie?”
There was a rustling, bumping sound, like the little girl was shaking her head.
“She…she’s hurt. Bad. I ca-can’t wake her up.”
Everything inside Trouble clenched at once, his throat closing around the stone now sitting there.
“Shit!” Odin muttered.
Trouble, speechless, his heart pounding, forced words from his dry as hell mouth, “What happened to her?”
Silence. Introducing an unfamiliar voice probably scared the girl. Shit!
Odin pinned Trouble with a glare, then assured, “Sweetie, that’s my friend, and we are both friends of your mama. Can you tell us what happened?”
A sniffle, then, “He hurt her. She was screaming, and he was hitting her…. The men came to the door, and she told me to hide. She told me to wait ten minutes, but I….” Her little voice shook. She sniffled again, making everything inside Trouble desperate to get to her, to pull her into his arms and hold her tight. To comfort her. To keep her safe. The urge was so overwhelming, he couldn’t put a name to it.
“I waited until I heard them leave, then I found her. She’s bleeding and she won’t wake up. I did what she said—I called you. She said that if something happened to her, I was supposed to call Odin.”
Call Odin …not Trouble. If he needed another reminder of how much she hated him, that was it.
Something twisted in his chest, an acknowledgement that Liz couldn’t trust him. He’d made sure of that with his actions ten years ago, and had spent those same ten years regretting it every fucking day. But that wasn’t what made the rage boil through his blood until he could scent it on his own skin.
Someone. Had. Hurt. Liz.
His Liz. A woman so compassionate and kind, she fucking glowed with it. Who the hell would dare to hurt someone who only ever deserved beauty?
Especially after all the ugly I’ve given her.
From the white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, Trouble knew Odin was feeling the same rage. No one fucked with their women, and despite the shit between Liz and Trouble, she was still considered under club protection. She was one of theirs. Besides that, Savage Raiders MC didn’t take kindly to anyone hurting any woman—club protected or not.
“Okay, darlin’, you did good. Can you tell me where you are?” Odin inquired gently but urgently, knowing that getting to Liz could be life or death.
“Home.”
Odin, with screeching, burning tires, performed a 180-degree turn, and pointed the truck toward Spanish Hills, where Trouble knew the good doctor lived. Not that he’d ever been invited to set foot inside the lavish condo. Not that he ever would, even if he had been. The time he was welcome in her home was long gone. Their life together was long dead. Because he’d killed it.
“Alright, darlin’, we’re on our way. Hold tight, yeah?”
A soft, heart wrenching sob tore through the truck’s cabin and into Trouble’s body.
“Keep talkin’, darlin’,” Trouble coaxed. “So, Liz is your mama?”
“Y-yes.”
“How old are you?”
Fuck, please don’t let her be—
“Nine and a quarter.”
Deep in his belly, a knowing was slowly unfurling.
“What’s your name, darlin’?” Trouble asked, suddenly desperate for all the details about this young girl. Liz’s daughter. One no one new she had. How and why she kept the little girl a secret was a question that could have a clear and devastating answer.
Simply, she didn’t want him to know.
“Erika,” the little girl answered, and Trouble’s life upended.
Struck, his breath slamming from his lungs, Trouble grabbed the door handle with trembling, white-knuckled hands, and tried to breathe through the unbearable weight on his chest.
Trouble could feel Odin’s eyes on his face, no doubt surprised as shit.
“That’s a beautiful name, sweetie,” Odin spoke, because Trouble couldn’t speak. Odin’s surprised and concerned gaze flicking between his VP and the road.
“Th-thank you,” Erika mewled, her tiny voice loud as a plane engine in Trouble’s ears. “My mama said I was named after my daddy.”
Erika…named after Erik. Him. She was named after him . Shuddering, he closed his eyes against the avalanche of realization cascading with disbelief and desperation.
“Your daddy?” Odin inquired, taking a sharp right turn onto Breckenridge, and gunning it.
“Yeah, but he isn’t here.”
But he was! He was there, he was right fucking there!
And he’s coming for you, darlin’!
Trouble finally forced a word through the thick, strangling hands of shock and terror around his throat. “No?”
“No. Mama said he wasn’t around because he was trouble. And we don’t need trouble.”
For the first time in over twenty years, a tear slipped from Erik Skaarsen’s eye. No, his woman and daughter didn’t need Trouble, but God…Trouble needed them.
“Darlin’, we’re coming, alright?”
“O-okay.” God, the sound of her terrified voice made his heart squeeze. Fuck…his little girl…his daughter. She could still be in danger.
“Erika, darlin’, I need you to do somethin’ for us. We’re on our way, we’ll be there soon, but I need you to hang up and call 9-1-1.”
“I c-can do that,” Erika sniffled. “You’re coming, right?”
God, his heart. His little girl needed him. He couldn’t get to her fast enough.
He swallowed, then croaked, “Yeah, baby, I’m comin’.”
The line went dead and everything inside of him screamed at the silence. Logically, he knew it needed to be done; the little girl needed to call for help, but she was still alone. Those motherfuckers who hurt Liz could still be around. Erika could still be in danger.
Fuck!
“We got to get there, man,” Trouble rasped, his hands in fists on his lap, his knuckles aching with the pressure.
Odin didn’t even look at him, his eyes pinned to the road. The speedometer read 92MPH, but it felt like they were cruising rather than flying.
Everything was moving slowly, too slowly—but his heart was beating fast, too fast. He gripped his kutte over his heart, sucking a breath into lungs too tight to fully inflate.
“We’ll get you to them, brother. Just hold on, yeah?” Odin murmured, still not taking his eyes from the road.
In a daze, Trouble listened as Odin called Skathi using the Bluetooth dash speaker, telling her to meet them at Liz’s house. Trouble did not know why Skathi had to meet them there; it was already going to be a goddamn mess.
“You’ll need someone to stay with the little girl, take care of her, make sure she gets to her mama,” Odin said, answering Trouble’s spiraling questions.
The little girl.
His little girl.
Fuck! He hadn’t even considered that someone needed to make sure the kid was safe while her mom was hurt. And even eight months pregnant, Skathi was a goddamn killing machine. You could take the Jaeger out of the corps, but you couldn’t stop them from being fucking awesome. Erika would be safe as hell with Skathi watching over her, at least until Liz was okay.
But what if Liz didn’t—
No. Fuck no! He couldn’t— wouldn’t —think of that. She had to survive! He just found out she had his kid, she had some explaining to do, then she had some apologizing to do—but she had to get well, to live.
She has to live.
Another twist in his chest made his hand grip the kutte over it tighter until the leather squealed within his fist.