Chapter Fourteen
S tanding at the bar the next night, Trouble nearly dropped his beer when Slick slapped him on the shoulder, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Fuck, brother, I can’t believe you’re a dad,” he marveled. “That’s some heavy shit right there. And that Doc kept her from you—”
Trouble whirled and grabbed Slick’s skinny neck with his empty hand, squeezing as he got close enough to Slick’s nose to feel him suck in air.
“You got it all wrong, brother ,” Trouble advised, his voice soft but filled with menace. “She didn’t do shit wrong. I was the one who did her wrong, and that little girl was raised alone because of it. Doc did an amazing job with that little girl. No one—and I mean no one talks shit about Liz.”
First step to getting his woman back was admitting his wrongs. At least that was the bullshit Hawk told him last night after Church, when Hawk, Fang, Odin, and one of their outside security support comrades, Dog Gentry, got together at Up to No Good for a drink. The men had all fallen hard for their women, fucked up, and had to do whatever was necessary to get their women back.
Trouble was in the precarious position of being where they all were before; in the wrong with his woman. His fuck up, though, was compounded with ten years of hard feelings. He’d betrayed the woman he loved, lost ten years of a life they could have had together, and ten years with a daughter he still hadn’t officially met. Was there any coming back from that? He had to believe there was a way, because he was going to fucking take it. He refused to believe that this was it for him. For them. He wanted his family back, and he’d do anything to that end—even sit down and get roasted by men he respected, then listen to their stories, their advice, and their warnings. By the end of the night, Trouble had a head full of information…and a heart that ached for what they’d gone through. And his thoughts were filled with anxiety about what he could expect during his long fight to reconciliation.
He’d already taken the first step by opening up and admitting all he’d done to his brothers. And that shit hurt like hell.
During Church, Trouble had laid it all out—what he’d done to Liz, why, and how it had all been for nothing since she’d stayed in Vegas. The brothers, not surprisingly, were disappointed in him, shaking their heads in disapproval. Odin, especially, was upset because he knew the shit that had gone down before with Bonnie and her bullshit, how she betrayed the club and got Fang’s woman, Tessa, kidnapped and hurt because of it. All the brothers were also understandably upset that Trouble’s actions years ago created a ten-year-old sore spot between Liz and the Raiders, one they hadn’t known was there until Trouble explained what happened.
“Now her cold shoulder toward brothers makes sense. Yeah, she’ll fix up our shit, but she doesn’t engage with us, ya know? It’s because she hates us.” Hound had been right…and wrong. Liz didn’t hate anyone—except him—she was just wary around the club. She loved the club women—even some of the whores—so it wasn’t the club she had a problem with, it was the men of the club, the brothers she’d known ten years ago, some of which were still active members. Like Hell Hound. “Brother, when you told me to stand at the door and text you when she was there, I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t wrongly assume she was a bitch you wanted to scrape off. You let me think she was trouble for the club…. I did that woman wrong that day, brother, and I don’t know if I can forgive you for that.” That, more than anything else his brothers had said, had hurt the most. But he took it, because he’d earned that anger.
“S-sorry, man,” Slick croaked, dragging Trouble from his troubled thoughts. “ I didn’t mean anything by it. Doc is cool, brother. She helped me out when that tattoo got infected.”
Rolling his eyes, Trouble dropped his hand.
“That’s what you get for getting drunk and getting a cheap tattoo at a truck stop,” Trouble remarked. The club owned an award-winning tattoo parlor, Savage Ink, and club brothers got their ink done there for free. Slick was a dumbass.
Slick rubbed his neck. “Yeah, yeah. I learned my fucking lesson.”
Trouble snorted, then lifted his beer to take a swig. Swallowing, he offered, “And now you have that kickass tattoo of a…what is that? A two-legged horse?” Trouble leaned in to stare at the bad as shit tattoo on Slick’s neck.
Slick drew up his shoulders to try and hide the hideous ink. “Nah, man, it’s a chupacabra.”
“Only you would get a fucking tattoo of a goat sucker on your neck,” Fang declared as he rolled up to stand beside Trouble. “Next time, hermano , don’t trust lot lizards for ink,” he advised, shaking his head, his overlong hair brushing against his own neck tattoo; his ol’ lady’s road name, Fuega , inked there in red, orange, and black.
Fang turned to Trouble. “Hey man, you got a minute?”
Trouble furrowed his brow. “Yeah, man.” He cocked his head toward the back booth that was designated for officers only. It was where quiet conversations about club business were held. Trouble led Fang to the booth, then slid in. He lifted his hand to signal to Daisy for another beer. Once he had a new beer in hand, he leaned back, cast his gaze to Fang, and said, “What’s on your mind, brother?”
Fang flicked his gaze toward the common room which was filling up with brothers, their women, and a few of the clubwhores. Thankfully, Amelia hadn’t been around much over the last two days—he actually hadn’t seen nor heard from her since he’d seen her glaring at him across the common room yesterday, which was both a relief and worrying. When Amelia was pissed, she thought the silent treatment would net her what she wanted. Always, though, it just gave Trouble and the other brothers blessed drama-free silence for a few days. Unfortunately, Trouble knew she’d be back around soon enough.
“What’s going on with you and that little girl? Tessa said you haven’t been to see her. You know she’s livin’ with Fae and Hawk at their place right now, right?”
Yeah, he knew. At first, Erika had stayed with Skathi, but as Skathi’s pregnancy was progressing, she found that she couldn’t keep up with a rambunctious nine-year-old. So, Fae, the sweetheart, volunteered to take her in until Liz was released from the hospital. From all reports from Hawk, Erika was doing well. Thankfully, she hadn’t had any nightmares about what happened, but she was getting more and more agitated about seeing her mom. It wasn’t a surprise that Liz was putting off having Erika visit; the bruises on her face were still dark and swollen when he’d last seen her only the day before. Liz didn’t want Erika to see her like that. Trouble got it, he understood, really, he did. However…that meant he had to wait to see his own daughter, because it didn’t seem right to introduce himself, especially because of the circumstances surrounding his absence from her life.
He’d have to wait for Liz.
After what went down with her yesterday, you’ll be waiting until you die, motherfucker.
Shit. He could only hope that once Liz had time to simmer down, she’d realize that he sincerely wanted a relationship with Erika. That he desperately needed one. She’d been right there, in his city, under his nose, for nearly ten fucking years. He’d cheated himself out of all that time with her.
And he wouldn’t miss another moment.
“It’s complicated. I want to meet her, God, do I want to meet her, man, but it’s not right. I wasn’t there for her all that time, and it wouldn’t be right to just force myself into her life.”
Fang nodded sagely.
“I get it. You can at least prepare, right? Get your life right so that once Liz lets you get in there, you can move forward.”
Trouble cocked his head. “You mean like child proofing my shit?” His suite in the clubhouse was really more of a crash pad…one he’d lived in since they’d bought the building and renovated it eight years ago. Didn’t kids need space…and grass? Well, he did have that house he bought and remodeled with the intent to sell for a profit….
Fuck. Things were getting more complicated—but he was there for it, especially if it meant Liz and Erika would have a safe place to live. With him. Together. As a family.
Fang chuckled and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “Nah, brother, though child proofing is probably smart, though how much child proofing do you really need for a nine-year-old?” he said, smirking. “I meant clean house .”
Letting his gaze flick from Fang to the direction he was pointing, Trouble cursed when he saw Amelia sauntering toward the booth. It was clear from the way she was dressed—shorts so short her ass cheeks were hanging out, and a top so skimpy it was basically two napkins over her nipples—she was on a mission of seduction, but there was a level of determination in her eyes he didn’t like.
What the fuck is she thinking?
Amelia didn’t even stop once she reached him, instead, she slid right onto his lap like she belonged there.
Stiffening at her actions and her audacity, Trouble growled, “What the fuck, Amelia?”
She turned toward him, pouting, her fake eyelashes flapping like two sides of a centipede.
“I’ve missed you this week, baby. You haven’t come to me…and I know you need me,” she purred, leaning in to try and plant a kiss on his lips.
What the fucking fuck?
He reeled back, glaring at her.
“Not right now, Amelia. You know better than to approach a brother while he’s sitting in this booth, and you fucking know you don’t touch a brother unless you’re given permission.” He pried her fingers from where they were clutching at his kutte, and forced them into her lap.
She laughed. “That’s never been a rule between us, baby. I touch you all the time, and you touch me.” She tried to pull her hands from his tightening grip, and when she couldn’t, her coy expression dropped. “What’s wrong, Trouble? You look tense. Why don’t we go upstairs, and I help you relax like I always do.”
From across the table, Fang snorted. Trouble flicked his gaze to the man and saw the look of disdain on his face. Fang, the fuck, had lived the life of a sultan before he locked down Tessa. Before he finally got his woman, Fang had been living with five girlfriends, each one there to serve his sexual needs. He’d touched none of the clubwhores, unlike Trouble, who’d dipped his dick indiscriminately. It wasn’t until Liz re-entered his life that Trouble gravitated toward Amelia, who took the least amount of effort because she saw herself wearing his kutte one day, and was accommodating toward that end. She was, in the beginning, a quick and easy fuck, someone to use as a buffer between him and the woman he’d wronged, someone to wield as a weapon against the woman he still ached for but believed he couldn’t have. He’d been an unmitigated asshole, using Amelia to keep Liz at arm’s length, because he was too much of a fucking coward to let himself feel the guilt roiling beneath the surface.
Now, though, he let the guilt breathe free, and the thought of touching Amelia—or any of the clubwhores—again, made his guts twist.
Liz was it for him. No more cheap imitations of the pleasure and passion he’d felt with Liz, and he knew he’d feel again. He just had to convince her…after he “cleaned house.”
Casting a speaking glance at Fang, Trouble lifted his chin in thanks when Fang muttered, “I’ll leave you to it,” and left the booth, headed toward the bar.
Alone, Trouble shifted Amelia from his lap and pointed to the seat Fang vacated.
Pursing her lips, Amelia huffed, but did as he silently demanded.
She crossed her arms and glared at him, no doubt aware of what was about to go down.
“This,” he pointed to himself and then her, “is over. I know I’ve been payin’ you more attention over the last two years, and I know it created some expectations, but those expectations…those are on you. I might have favored you, but we weren’t exclusive; I got pussy elsewhere when the need struck.”
Amelia shook her head. “No. You came to me because you know how good we are together. And we will only get better, baby,” she cooed, reaching across the table to run her fingers down his forearms. He leaned back, removing any part of his body from her reach. “And the other women…they won’t matter soon, not once we get serious.”
He grunted, internally rolling his eyes. It was his own damn fault that this was so fucking complicated. He’d been a sorry fuck, using Amelia like he had, knowing how she thought things would go, and he had no excuse. He just knew he had to cut things off, clean and clear, so there were no further complications or confusions.
“Let’s not be mistaken here, Amelia, I fucked up lettin’ you think there’d be more, but you also fucked up thinkin’ a clubwhore would ever be an ol’ lady.”
“But Bonnie—”
He hissed, jerking his head. “Bonnie was a traitorous bitch, who trapped a brother with a baby because she wanted a patch.” And she got herself killed selling out the club because Odin didn’t fall in with her plans to be the club queen, leaving her daughter with Tosser an orphan.
Amelia sneered, “Oh? Like that fucking doctor did? Word’s out, Trouble. We all know that the good and precious Doctor Liz got herself knocked up to get your patch—”
He slammed his fist on the table, making the beer bottles clank together. Amelia flinched, her brown eyes widening in fear.
“Don’t you ever fuckin’ talk about Liz—not fucking ever, and you especially don’t talk about my daughter. They are both off-fucking-limits.” Seething, he leaned in and spoke in a low but menacing voice. “Get your facts straight—when Liz got pregnant, she was already my woman, there was no need to trap me with a baby. And even after she got herself pregnant, she didn’t demand my fuckin’ patch. She spent the last ten fucking years raisin’ my kid on her own. She ain’t no patch chaser, but if she came in here right now and asked for my patch, I’d fuckin’ give it to her on my goddamn knees.”
With that, he pushed up from the seat, turned his back to his past, and headed toward the door. As he straddled his bike, he clenched his teeth, knowing shit was only going to get harder. Liz and Erika were waiting for him to step the fuck up, and he needed to be prepared for a hard, painful climb. It would be worth it.
They were worth it.