Chapter Thirteen
H er breaths coming in short, shallow pants, Liz shook her head, unable to gather the words through the searing ball of rage lodged in her throat.
He must’ve seen the hate scorching over her expression because he clenched his jaw and planted his hands on his hips, seeming to brace himself for what was coming.
“Now, Liz—”
She. Fucking. Snapped. Grabbing the thing nearest to her, she threw the pink water pitcher at his head.
“Shit!” he cried, unfortunately ducking before he could get doused with the water.
“You motherfucking piece of shit!” she screamed, then grabbed the box of tissues off the table and threw that, too. Why wasn’t there anything heavier within her goddamn reach? “You hated me that much that you stuck your dick in Bitch Bonnie, knowing I’d show up and catch you? You fucked her knowing I would hear you two in there, and knowing that I’d run, knowing that I’d be so fucking gutted by what you did that I’d never question why!”
Seething, she tried to sit up, to get to the edge of the bed so she could jump off the bed, and tear off his motherfucking face.
Trouble cursed and reached out a hand to stop her. She jerked back, making her ribs scream in pain.
“Don’t you fucking touch me! I hate you, you piece of shit! You broke me! Instead of breaking up with me like a normal person, you thought you’d twist the knife just for kicks. You are such a fucking coward that instead of telling me you didn’t want me anymore, you set me up, thinking I’d just ride off into the California sunset and never come back. There, done, no more fat, ugly, clingy girlfriend. You—” God…this hurts…so much. “—you hated me so much….” Tears burned that backs of her eyes, then burst forth, spilling down her cheeks. “And-and you wander why I never told you about Erika? That’s why, you asshole! What you did and said in that bar. You didn’t just get rid of your unwanted girlfriend, you also got rid of your unwanted kid, too!”
Trouble let out an inhuman sound and grabbed her shoulders, gripping her tightly.
“No, shit…Liz, it wasn’t like that,” he declared. “You have to listen to me. Let me explain.” She tried to twist out of his hold, his touch on her skin like spiders biting. “Stop doing that; you’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Get your hands off me!” she yelled, and let out a sob of relief when two nurses burst through the door.
“Sir! We’re going to have to ask that you leave immediately,” the older nurse, Janine, demanded.
Trouble’s grip on her tightened for a moment, before he dropped his hands with a grunt. He took a step back away from the bed, the whole time never dropping his gaze from her face.
Liz, overwhelmed with a torrent of emotions, began trembling, which didn’t help her pain.
“Please, make him leave. I don’t want him here,” she pleaded with the nurses, who pursed their lips and nodded. The younger nurse, Shanna, hurried from the room, probably to fetch security, while Janine stepped between Liz and Trouble. One of the many things Liz loved about nurses was their dedication to protecting and caring for their patients—but this woman was taking that a step further; placing herself between her patient and a pissed off biker.
“Sir, again, I ask that you leave immediately.”
Trouble cursed beneath his breath, his eyes filled with anger tempered with—no…it couldn’t be guilt she was seeing in those eyes. The eyes of a man who’d betrayed her and tore out her heart, and then spent the last two years shoving other women in her face.
Janine crossed her arms.
Raising his hands in a show of surrender, Trouble snatched his cell off his chair, pinned Liz with his gaze once more, then stalked from the room, leaving behind a hurt so profound, Liz couldn’t catch her breath.
Cutting the engine to his Super Glide, Trouble dismounted and stormed through the doors of the clubhouse, enraged—at Liz for not letting him explain, and at himself for hurting her. Again.
If she’d just let me talk to her…. Realistically, though, she was right in kicking his ass out of her hospital room. She was hurting—emotionally and physically, and she needed time to…heal.
But not too long.
He grit his teeth, the force of the clenching driving pain through his skull. But that was what he deserved—the pain and the guilt. The self-hate and Liz’s hate. He’d earned that. He’d earned every tear she’d shed, every angry, agonized word she’d spoken—like a bullet to the chest.
He let it bleed. Because, in that moment, watching realization dawn on her beautiful face, in her gorgeous eyes…it had taken the last bit of soul he had left and set it on fire. She was right, he was a motherfucking piece of shit.
You destroy everything you touch, boy, his father’s voice beat against his brain.
“Yo!” Hawk called from the bar area, raising a beer in greeting. “Why do you look like someone put sugar in your gas tank?”
Trouble, in need of something to punch but not wanting to start a fucking brawl in the clubhouse common room, flipped Hawk the bird, ignored the gasp from Hawk’s woman Fae, and headed toward his suite on the second floor, away from prying, curious eyes…and people wanting to know how Liz was doing.
He’d deal with all that shit later, but right now he just needed a goddamn minute to think.
Slamming through his suite door, he was glad to see it empty. More and more lately, Amelia had begun to make herself at home in his room whenever the fuck she wanted, as if she had the right to be there. Since he’d liked having easy access to her pussy, he hadn’t minded so much. But over the last several weeks, with her not so subtle hints about wanting his kutte, the luster of having pussy on tap was starting to dull.
Fuck that, the appeal of easy pussy died a long time ago, but he was a single man, an MC VP, pussy and Patrón were his daily diet. What would become of him if he didn’t do what was expected of him—and the release never hurt. But day in and day out, the emptiness he felt after emptying his balls never went away. Even with Amelia.
I should start locking my door, he thought as he kicked it shut behind him, and threw the lock . He trusted his brothers with his life, so locking the door to his suite had never crossed his mind. Now, however, he knew it was a necessity.
Things had to change. Quick. Because his life had changed irrevocably…and for the better.
If things worked out the way he hoped they would.
Though he was well aware of the double standard, he’d be fucked if he’d let some clubwhore hang around his suite with his daughter there. And she would be there with him; he’d fucking move heaven and earth to make that happen. He’d already lost nearly ten years with her, and he couldn’t stand not being with her, even now. Yeah, he knew she needed time to come to terms with what happened to her mother before he revealed he was her father, but there was also the heart pounding urgency to go to her, pull her into his arms, draw the scent of her into his body, and never let her go. But first, he needed to make sure she was comfortable around him. So that meant he needed to make sure his space was safe and comfortable for her—so no more Amelia, or any clubwhore, just walking in. Definitely no more hook ups in the suite when she was around. Even a degenerate dog like him knew that was inappropriate for his nine-year-old daughter.
He halted mid-stride, his thoughts colliding like a star into a black hole, compressing together into one, singular thought. One he’d never imagined possible.
His daughter….
Erika.
Oh fuck.
Like a gut punch with spiked brass knuckles, Trouble grunted and nearly doubled over from the force of that awakening. From the moment he’d heard her little voice say her father was trouble, to finding Liz bleeding on the floor, to rushing to the hospital, to watching over her as she slept, to the confrontation in the hospital room—Trouble hadn’t had the time nor mental space to comprehend the fact that he had a daughter, a human person who would depend on him for love, protection, and wisdom.
His thoughts flashed to the image of her emblazoned on his brain. Her golden blonde hair, her bright green eyes, her dimples, that face that stole his breath and his heart. She was gorgeous. His little girl was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Half of him…half of Liz, one hundred percent perfect.
Sucking in a breath, he regained his momentum and headed toward his bathroom. He needed a shower, then he needed to eat, then he needed to call Church. The Bratva were a menace, one that was growing by the day, and one that the Savage Raiders had to be ready to take on—because in targeting Liz, they targeted the club. No one hurt one of theirs and got away with it.
Especially not Liz, the woman he still wanted with every molecule in his body.
Especially not Erika, the little girl he only knew about for a few days but still adored on sight.
His.
They were his to protect.
He’d missed ten years with the two people he loved more than anything in the goddamn world.
No more.
Liz was angry now, but she had to get over it. Because he wasn’t spending another motherfucking day without his woman and his daughter in his life. He pictured Liz as she’d been in the hospital bed, hissing, spitting, throwing things—despite being hurt, in pain, barely able to move. He knew that, if they let her, she would have jumped from that bed, hobbled over to him, and ripped his balls off with her uninjured hand. Liz Simpson was the goddess of war and fertility embodied, and just thinking of how she looked then—blue eyes bright with rage, supple body vibrating with anger, cheeks glowing red with indignation…she’d been fucking stunning. He knew he was an asshole for getting hard thinking about Liz as sexy when she was angry, but he couldn’t help it. He missed the fuck out of her. She was a hellcat, fiery and pissed the fuck off, but he couldn’t blame her, he actually admired her for it. He knew he’d done her wrong…and it was his shame to bear.
Once she’d calmed down, he’d tell her everything—every last hideous detail—and he’d beg her forgiveness. He wasn’t above getting on his knees for her; it wouldn’t be the first time. Of course, back then, he’d been tasting her sweet pussy, making her scream his name, but they’d get back to that. Soon. He hoped.
With that in mind, Trouble hurried through a shower, nuked a burrito, downed a bottle of water, then texted Odin to call Church in thirty minutes. They needed to present the information Liz gave them about the asshole Russians to the club. If they were going to war with the Bratva, they needed to bring it to a vote. It chaffed his ass that he couldn’t just snipe Danil Oblek like the weasel that he was, but Trouble understood that the club would have his back, so he needed to do things by the bylaws. His brothers and their women loved Liz, knew how important she was to the club…and to Trouble. And now that they all knew about Erika, things were more complicated than ever. The Savage Raiders would allow no one to hurt one of theirs, but especially not a child. Women and children were motherfucking untouchable. Oblek touched, so he’d die.
Thirty minutes later, Trouble came down the stairs and into the common room. He saw his brothers gathered, waiting to head into the soundproofed room where they held Church. The clubwhores were circulating, grabbing drinks, sitting on laps, and offering their services for later. It was just another day at the Raider’s compound. What wasn’t typical, however, was the way Amelia was sitting in the corner, legs and arms crossed, glaring at him like he kicked her puppy.
Not in the fucking mood to deal with her shit, he ignored her, turning to greet Dragon, who managed their brothel, Sex there’s no other reason for them to have that much money lying around.”
That made sense, and that also made things more dangerous. No one was more rabid about their money and operations than the Russians, and if the doctor stole their money and fucked up their money laundering through the clinic, it was a double whammy. Trouble wouldn’t be surprised if the doctor’s head showed up separate from the rest of his body…which would probably show up on the front porch of his mother’s house.
Russians were sick fucks.
“How would they launder money through a high-end medical clinic?” Grimm asked, finally breaking the broody silence he’d been wearing like a fucking cloak.
“Mark up on supplies, medicines, and procedures—anything that can be paid for in cash. More and more patients come through looking for…off the books services.”
“Like the Italians, the cartels, and street thugs who need a bullet removed but don’t want police attention,” Odin observed.
Nodding, AFK remarked, “It’s fucked, but the doctor had a good thing going—using all those services for the other families to funnel money for the Russians.”
“Fucked is right,” Trouble agreed, not with a little disgust. “While Liz was out visiting patients all day, Dr. Pace was welcoming the undesirables through the back door of the clinic, and using that cash to help the Russian’s launder their money.”
Fang cursed. “So, beating the doc…what kind of message was she supposed to send? They must think she’s involved, or they wouldn’t have bothered with her.”
AFK interjected, “Not true. She’s his business partner, that’s enough for the Russian fucks. The guy’s in the wind, they want their money back, so they go for the most likely person who can contact him.”
“Yeah, but she has no idea where the fucknut is,” Trouble spat. “If she did, she’d have given him up in a second to keep her daughter safe.”
The men, who’d been grumbling and snarling, all stopped and stared.
“Yeah,” Hawk began, “what’s up with that? How did we not know she had a kid?”
“Obviously, she didn’t want anyone to know,” Fang supplied, his words dripping with resentment. Fang’s woman, Tessa, was good friends with Liz—most of the club women liked Liz—so it wasn’t a surprise that Fang would be angry.
“Don’t take that tone, brother,” Trouble warned. “She had a good reason to keep it from us.”
Odin, silent through the back and forth, cast Trouble a long, speaking gaze. He was silently telling Trouble to sack the fuck up and tell his brothers the truth. That he was a father. To Liz’s kid.
“Oh?” Hound barked, his mouth curled into a sneer. “And what reason is that? Are we such bastards that she couldn’t trust us with her kid?” Hell Hound, who’d been there that day at Tipped, when Trouble had fucked shit up with Liz, had grown to like and respect Liz, despite what he’d initially thought about Liz ten years ago…because of what Trouble let him assume.
“No,” Trouble barked back.
“So, what reason was there?” Hawk asked, his gray eyes too knowing.
Because Trouble was a motherfucking goddamn piece of shit who didn’t deserve to know about his own daughter. And now…he had to come clean.
Biting off a curse, he leaned back in his seat and sighed.
“I got some shit to say, brothers….”