Chapter Seventeen
L iz spent all the previous day and into the night waiting for Trouble to return. But he didn’t. Typical. After his posturing and arguing the day before, Liz had expected him to return to the hospital and camp out in her room, not letting her breathe without him there.
But Liz could admit that she was both glad and disappointed that he hadn’t come back. She hated that she…well, she wanted to see him. She wanted to hear his voice. She wanted to just…be in the same room as him without feeling like she had to put on that fa?ade of untouched, unaffected, unmoved. It was hard fucking work, acting like seeing him didn’t bother her, didn’t hurt her, didn’t make her wish things were different.
Different how? that voice that always seemed to play devil’s advocate asked.
There was the big part of her that was still angry, still anguishing over his betrayal. That part of her wanted to see him suffer, wanted to keep their daughter away from him, wanted him to know what it felt like to lose something he loved. But there was also that small part of her…the part of her buried under piles of rubble on which her walls of protection were built. That part of her missed him, missed being wrapped in his warm, powerful arms. Missed his soft kisses, his passionate kisses, the kisses that would make her panties wet and her body sing. She missed the late nights snuggled together in their bed, talking, laughing, touching one another with intimate knowledge and soul-deep adoration. Liz missed Erik Skaarsen, the man, not Trouble, the Savage Raider VP…but Trouble was still there. He wasn’t the man she’d met and fell in love with at that bar over ten years ago—Trouble was the man at Tipped, fucking Bonnie in the back office, talking shit about Liz, knowing Liz could hear. Trouble was the asshole club VP who loved flaunting his floozies in her face whenever she came around. Trouble was the man who chased her away and missed nearly ten years of his daughter’s life because he didn’t know how to ask a simple question; “What are your plans about Stanford?”
That was the man she hated—and now he was forcing his way into her life like a bulldozer.
And she had to let him in; she had no choice if she wanted to keep Erika safe.
She hoped she didn’t regret it once all the shit with the Bratva was over.
After a short video chat with Erika, during which she had to fight back tears of joy at seeing her little girl, and sobs of pain at missing her so much, Liz had felt…listless. Out of place. Outside of her own life, just waiting for Trouble to get back so that she could start moving forward again—because the fucker had convinced her to stay with him. How? Well, he and Tessa—the tag team from hell—had been brutally and scarily honest about the danger she and Erika were in from the Russians. And…there really wasn’t anywhere else for them to stay that the Russians couldn’t just violate again. At Trouble’s place, she and Erika would be safe, they could be comfortable, and…well, Erika could get to know her father. And that was just about as terrifying as all hell.
Erika was the best thing Liz ever did; having that little girl had been the highlight of her life, and waking up every day with Erika as her purpose had gotten her through some pretty shitty days. Being a single parent was the hardest thing any person could go through, but the reward was more than enough. It was everything to see Erika’s smile, to hear her laugh, to see her learning and growing and thriving, and know she was instrumental in Erika’s happiness. Liz would live, die, and kill for her little girl.
And you don’t think Trouble will?
Well, wasn’t that the fucking question of the hour.
Now that she knew that Trouble had set her up to overhear what he and that bitch Bonnie were doing in that office, Liz couldn’t stop the white out blizzard of questions overwhelming her mind.
Had Trouble really meant what he’d said about having kids?
Had he really meant what he said about me just being an easy fuck?
What was the asshole thinking, cheating on me just to get me to leave town?
What a bunch of absolute bullshit! He couldn’t just sit down with her and talk to her about her taking that scholarship to Stanford? If he had, he’d have known she couldn’t afford attending there even with the scholarship. He would have known Liz was pregnant. He would have been a part of Erika’s life from the jump—but he wasn’t, because he had the mentality of a fucking ten-year-old who never thought for a fucking second that maybe he should do the grown-up thing and have a goddamn conversation with someone.
Instead of stepping up and doing the right thing, the mature thing, he’d been a coward, taking the coward’s way out, and leaving her to raise their daughter on her own.
But was that really a bad thing? Knowing how Trouble lived, and how the Savage Raiders did their thing, was keeping Erika out of that lifestyle really a bad thing?
Her cell dinged from the table beside the bed. Now that she was mobile, thanks to the sling on her arm, Liz rose from the chair by the window and slowly made her way to the table. Grabbing her phone, she saw she had a text.
Sighing, she used her thumb to unlock the phone, then read the text.
Unknown: I’ll be by this afternoon to get you. See you then, baby.
Another text came right after that.
Unknown: Save this number.
Liz scoffed, shaking her head.
Baby? Seriously? That could only be Trouble, because no other man in her life would ever use that endearment, not only because she was single, but because Trouble had no trouble being a ridiculous asshole.
So, after ghosting her the day before, he was coming today? That must have meant he spoke to Dr. Faison, who’d been by that morning to tell her he was discharging her that afternoon.
Rolling her eyes, she shuffled back to the chair and sat down—and she couldn’t help but remember waking up one morning with him sitting right in that chair. He’d been sleeping, and he looked ragged, with dark circles under his eyes, his beard a little shaggy, and his long hair pulled back into a sloppy top-knot. Usually, she hated men with effeminate hair styles, thought they were a little too hipster for her. But on Trouble…God, her lady parts woke up faster than she did at the sight of him sitting there, leaned back like a god taking his ease with mere mortals, his beautiful face softened in sleep, his plump, perversely perfect lips open as he breathed—the man was built large, so he looked like a monster sitting in a fairy’s chair, but the bulk of him was still tight, hard, and pulling his clothes taut to the point of impropriety. He might as well be naked for all the good that t-shirt and those jeans did at hiding the rock hard muscle in his arms, his chest, his abdominals, and his thighs. And that very noticeable bulge in his jeans…yeah, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Thankfully, the nurse came in right then, dragged her attention from a man she shouldn’t even be talking to let alone gawking at with drool on her chin.
She sighed, hating that she was getting aroused just remembering Trouble at rest.
Only a few more hours and she’d be out of the hospital…and in Trouble’s house.
Where I can look my fill— nope. Nuh uh. She wouldn’t look, she wouldn’t fantasized about all that massive, tattooed, tanned muscle pressing her down on his bed while he railed his fat cock into her, his long hair hanging down around them like a curtain of silky sin as he groaned deep and long….
Ugh. She rolled her eyes, forcing herself to think less about his body and more about what was going to happen once she and Erika were stuck in his house.
Was she ready for that next step? Was she ready to spend hours a day with a man who broke her heart and seemed determined to get all up in her shit? Sure, Erika would also be there, but that was part of what made it all so difficult. They’d all be together…like a family.
The one thing she’d wanted most in her life.
Swallowing down the acute pain at all she’d lost—her parents, her childhood, and the man she loved—she scrolled through the apps on her phone, looking for anything to take her mind off of what was coming.
Because, despite her bravado and her intent to keep space between herself and Trouble, she was terrified that no matter how hard she pushed, he’d just push back harder.
“I got something to say to you,” Hell Hound grumbled, coming to a stop right in front of Trouble, blocking Trouble’s way to his suite, where he’d planned to shower off the nasty Russian blood, and then get his ass to the hospital where he’d be picking up Liz. She was going home with him today…and he’d finally have her right where she belonged.
“Yeah?” Trouble drawled, looking up at the man he’d called brother for a decade.
Hound was a big motherfucker; broad shoulders, massive arms, and at least two inches taller than Trouble, who was nothing to sneeze at at 6’8”. In another life, Hound would have been a fabled berserker, a frenzied killing machine, battle-honed, and as sharp and deadly as a battleaxe.
Trouble knew exactly what Hound wanted to talk about, and he knew it was time to come to Jesus. Sighing, Trouble crossed his arms and lifted his chin, waiting for the man to speak. He owed it to Hound to hear him about, and let him have his say. And probably take a few swings at him.
Hound’s bearded face was hard, his expression harder, his copper-colored eyes like twin meteors.
“Brother,” he spoke, his voice as deep and rumbly as the Harley he rode. “If I’d known what was really going down in Tipped, I’d have kicked your ass before ever helping you out. Yeah, you’re my brother. Loyalty to club matters to me, but that….” He shook his head, his ragged dark brown hair brushing against his giant shoulders. “You told us you were scraping her off because she was bad news, and I believed you. I’d only seen her when you brought her around the bar, had little conversation with her, didn’t know her other than she was the one you were fucking on the regular. So when you said she’d outlived her time in your bed, I didn’t give it a second thought when you asked me to stand at the door, watch for her, and then text you when she arrived.” Hound’s nostrils flared, his body growing tense as he replayed what had happened. “You made me help you hurt a good woman—and for what?” he snapped, leaning in to put his face right in Trouble’s.
To another man, Hound’s actions would be considered an act of aggression and would get his ass beat, but Trouble knew Hound was upset, that he was on the edge between respecting Trouble as his VP and wanting to rip out his asshole. And Trouble knew he deserved whatever Hound would say or do—because he loved the motherfucker, and he understood the position he’d put the man in ten years ago, and two years ago, when Liz came back, and all the old feelings resurfaced—for Hound and for Liz.
“You were a goddamn dumbass who couldn’t have a simple conversation with his woman. Motherfucker, all you had to do was tell her you were done. You didn’t need to pull Bonnie in on your shit—you didn’t need to involve me , either. And now…that woman hates me, because I was part of something that broke her—and don’t say that woman isn’t broken,” Hound barked. “Every goddamn time she walks into the clubhouse and sees you wrapped around Amelia, you can see the pain in her eyes. Sure, it’s only there for a moment, ‘cause she’s real good at putting on a mask, but I see it—we all see it, so I know you see it, too. But you don’t give a shit. You want to hurt that woman, repeatedly, and why? What has the doc ever done to you?”
Trouble, floored by what Hound was saying, couldn’t speak. His chest felt like the gigantic fucker was stepping on it.
Why did he continue to hurt his Skizzy? What had driven him to pull Amelia into his lap whenever Liz showed up? The answer was the same as the one he’d realized yesterday.
Because you’re a piece of shit, just like your pa. You don’t deserve good, not when you’re born of bad.
“You’re right, brother,” Trouble said, sighing. He dropped his arms to hang loosely at his sides, preparing himself for the punch he knew was coming. “I used you, just like I used Bonnie—may she burn in hell—and I went about breaking things off with Liz all the wrong way. You’re also right that I’ve been using Amelia to hurt Liz.” He swallowed, knowing what he was about to say would flay him raw. “The truth is…I don’t know why I wanted to hurt Liz. I think, part of it, was I just wanted to keep her at a distance, keep the memories of what I did to her as far from me as possible. Amelia’s easy pussy was a quick way to sink into oblivion and forget my shit, even for a night. But every morning, those memories would return, that shame and guilt would return, that pain would come right the fuck back—and I’d search out that easy pussy to forget again.”
Hound pursed his lips, shaking his head, disappointment on his rugged face.
“You gotta know it’s not going to work, Trouble. Fucking, booze, beating the shit out of club enemies…its good for letting go of stress, having fun, and blowing off steam. But, brother, catastrophic life fuck ups? Nah, man, that shit never goes away, never gets easier, not until you deal with it.”
Trouble knew what Hound was saying, because it’s what he’d been telling himself the last twenty-four months, since Liz strutted her fine ass back into his life again. But he ignored that voice telling him that hurting Liz by fucking Amelia wasn’t doing him any favors, that it was only compounding the guilt and shame, that he was only making things worse. And those warnings came true the night he realized he had a daughter…and he’d basically fucked up any chance of being in her life because he’d been a motherfucking asshole to Liz.
He wouldn’t blame Liz if she turned Erika against him, telling their daughter what a piece of shit he was, what he terrible father he was, and how he would only ever let her down.
But Liz wouldn’t do that—no matter how fucking mad he made her. Because Liz was all about family.
And that was something he could use to get his family back.
Reaching out, he gripped Hound’s beefy shoulder, squeezing it.
“You’re right, brother. About all of it. And…I got to apologize to you. I did what I did, not even considering how it would affect you. That was a bullshit move, and I know that. So…” he raised his arms, his wingspan almost making him slam his hands on the corridor walls. “You got two free shots. Take ’em—”
The two punches to his belly caught him hard and fast, making him double over, his breath exploding from his chest at first impact.
Holy fuck, it was like being hit by a car. Twice.
Hound leaned down until he was right in Trouble’s face.
“Apology accepted, motherfucker.” With that, Hound walked around Trouble’s balled up frame, and headed downstairs.
Wheezing, Trouble stumbled his way to his room, where he gasped for air, wincing when his ab muscles screamed.
After long moments, Trouble took off his bloody shirt and jeans, tossed them into the trash, and stepped into a burning hot shower. He would wash away the Russian’s blood, then he’d head to the hospital—to Liz.
She didn’t need to know about the Russian he’d beaten to shit that morning.
He’d been on his way back to the hospital yesterday, intending to sleep in that torture device of a chair, right next to Liz’s bed, but then he got a call from a club CI who’d been keeping an eye on Blitz, one of the local Russian hang outs. From what Trouble knew, it wasn’t an official Bratva hang out like The Den or Brillianty, but some of the lower-level soldiers hit it up when they wanted to drink themselves under the table on cheap vodka. His CI told him he’d overheard two goons talking about a doctor their boss had a hard on for, and how they were supposed to spread the word about her being off limits to other men in the brotherhood.
That was enough for Trouble to do some hunting—because Liz was sure the fuck off-limits, because she belonged to him .
It didn’t take much to snatch one of the Russian fucks; he stumbled out of the bar around midnight, heading to fuck knew where, and Trouble assisted the obviously drunk man, right into the truck of his own car. Trouble drove the car and the Russian fuck to a warehouse the club owned on the outskirts of town. They had a room there specifically kitted out for “visitors.” It was rarely used, because people usually knew not to fuck with the Savage Raiders MC, but the Russians had big balls but small dicks, and were wading into dark waters that was over their heads.
It took most of the night and into the early morning to get answers out of the fuck, but what he learned had him wound up and ready to tear out Danil Oblek’s throat.
He reported what he learned to Odin, then called in Grimm to deal with what was left of the Russian. Grimm was the MC hitter, their Enforcer; taking lives was as easy to him as breathing, not that Grimm should feel bad about ridding the world of one more piece of Russian scum.
Now, Trouble was clean, his kutte was on his back, and he was headed out to free Liz from her hospital prison.
Texting Grimm then Dragon, he headed out, ignoring stares from Daisy and Laurie, who were gazing at him with questioning looks on their faces. No doubt rumors about him, Liz, and a little girl who looked just like him where making the rounds among the club women, and no doubt some of those women had heard about his treatment of Amelia. He couldn’t give a shit about any of it.
It took him thirty minutes to pull his truck up to the pick-up/drop off in front of the hospital. Dragon and one of the prospects were parked in visitor parking, closest to the entrance, their eyes alert for trouble. Because one of the things the Russian fuck from last night said as he was bleeding from his mouth was that Oblek had eyes on the hospital…and someone on the inside , feeding him information. There wasn’t anything Trouble could do about the spy, but getting Liz out of there without running into any of Oblek’s men was paramount. Hence the brothers in the parking lot, keeping eyes and ears alert.
Trouble wasn’t an idiot, thinking that Oblek’s men wouldn’t follow him and Liz from the hospital to his house, but once Liz was secure at his place, Oblek would have one hell of time getting to her. And with Erika safe with Hawk and Fae, he didn’t worry that she’d make it to his house safe and secure as well. Once he, Liz, and Erika were within the walls of his house, he could breathe just that much easier, but he wouldn’t be able to breathe deep until Oblek was dead.
Trouble entered the hospital and headed upstairs, his eyes peeled for men who didn’t belong.
It wasn’t until he was steps from Liz’s room that it finally sunk in—he was taking Liz home. To his home, a home he bought and remodeled with her in mind, even when he was too stuck up his own ass to realize it. And now, Liz and their daughter would be sharing it with him.
Tears burned behind his eyes, but he wouldn’t let them fall. He hadn’t earned the right to shed tears, because tears meant the shedding of guilt, the rise of remorse, the acceptance of his disgrace, and the desire to redeem his dishonor—because that was what it was, dishonor. He’d dishonored the woman he loved in the worst way possible…and he was nowhere near ready for her forgiveness. So he’d wear that guilt, that shame, that disgrace like a scarlet letter, and once he’d finally earned Liz’s forgiveness, then he could shed those burning tears…and wash away all that he’d done.