Chapter Twenty
T he last two weeks with Trouble had been…surprisingly uneventful. He left in the morning for work at the custom garage or to do club business, but not before dropping Erika off at school. Because of the threat, Liz kept Erika from the daycare, and just have someone take her to and from school every day.
When Erika had first arrived at the house under the careful watch of Hawk and Toke, she’d been wary—like any child in a new situation would be. But once she saw her bed, she was over the moon. She’d settled in much faster than Liz had expected, and seeing Erika with Trouble…. The way that man looked at their little girl, like she was the most incredible and precious creature in the world, well, it made her heart squeeze, her eyes tear up…and her lady bits ache. What was it about a man and his kid that made women lose their minds? Seriously, she wanted to know, so she could rip it out of herself and burn it. There would never be a “her and Trouble” again, no matter what he said about them being a family. Families didn’t betray each other, and no matter how much Trouble had supposedly changed, he was still the man who cheated on her.
There was no coming back from that. Ever.
Before Erika had even gotten there, Liz and Trouble had agreed that they wouldn’t tell Erika that Trouble was her father until the shit with the Russians was over, and they could sit down and give her their full attention, because then they could also talk about how they were going to move forward. As things were, the future was too up in the air, what with the threat of death by Russki hanging over their heads.
Erika loved her time in the morning with Trouble. She was blossoming under his attention—and he gave it with a smile on his face and a light in his eyes. The man was gone for his little girl, and it showed in how gentle he was with her. He’d wake up early, get Erika ready for school, then he’d indulge her by making whatever she wanted for breakfast. The first few times Liz had woken up to get Erika ready for school—even though she could barely get herself ready—as she always had, and Trouble was already up doing what Liz was supposed to be doing…Liz snapped at him. How dare he step up now and try being a “good dad”? He had nine and a half years of being nothing to Erika, and now he wanted to be a father? She realized what a bitch she was being when Erika asked her what Trouble was doing wrong. He wasn’t doing anything wrong …not really. He was stepping up, and it wasn’t entirely his fault that he’d missed nine and a half years of Erika’s life. Yes, he’d been an asshole and run Liz off because he thought he knew better than Liz did about her own fucking life, but any time after that, Liz could have told him about Erika. Pride, pain, and fear of his possible rejection of Erika had kept her on her side of Las Vegas. The city was massive, and she hadn’t seen him in all those years, until Odin had contacted her, asking her to come work for the club.
Now, Trouble was trying to make amends by being the father Erika needed, even though Liz hadn’t told Erika the truth yet. Each day, the guilt of keeping it a secret weighed on her. Trouble loved Erika, it was as plain as the indulgent, adoring smile on his face whenever he looked at her. And he wanted to spend time with her, coming home early from the club to eat dinner with them, play board games with Erika, and help with her nighttime routine. It was a serious mindfuck to listen to Trouble to all the voices in Erika’s Frozen book as he read her a bedtime story. Standing at the door watching over them like a hawk, Liz…melted just a little bit. He was trying. Erika was blooming, and Liz…well, she had trouble remembering why she hated him so much.
But then, the reminder came strolling through the door of the medical clinic on Liz’s very first day back on duty at the clubhouse. Sick of being stuck at Trouble’s house, and pretty much healed, she demanded to work at the clubhouse clinic, at least. She still had the cast, but that didn’t stop her from using her fingers or her other arm and hand. Odin and Trouble agreed it would be a bad idea for Liz to go back to work at VIP until they dealt with the Russians, so Liz had called each of the employees and patients to tell them the clinic was closed for the time being due to “budget constraints.”
Yeah, because one of the partners stole five million dollars from Russian psychos, so finances were a skoosh tight.
Liz smelled her first—like if Paris and Italy had anal sex, then took a shit on Amelia’s neck, that’s what it would smell like—then Liz heard those ridiculous heals click-clacking across the concrete floor.
Straightening from where she was leaning over the metal corner desk, checking over the list of supplies the brothers had used in her absence, Liz turned to face the bane of her existence. It took a moment to adjust the sling she was forced to wear until her next appointment with Dr. Faison, but once the sling was right, she pulled her shoulders back, and met the bitch head on.
Amelia came to a stop on the other side of the exam table nearest the door and crossed her arms. Today, she was wearing skin-tight black jeans, a belly-bearing top that barely covered her tits and revealed a new tattoo inked onto the top of her right boob. From where Liz was standing, it looked like a clown sucking a dick. Liz mentally shrugged. There was no accounting for taste. Amelia’s hair was new, too—she’d dyed it black, but one could tell she hadn’t had a professional do it, because her roots were showing. Her make up was as thick as usual, which did nothing to hide the ugliness that seeped from her soul.
Amelia smirked at Liz, and Liz fought the urge to sneer.
Instead, she offered her best “doctor smile,” and greeted, “Good morning, Amelia, how can I help you?” She’d dealt with wealthy problem patients with entitlement issues, an angry toddler hopped up on sugar and no sleep, and immature grown ass men before, so she could handle one ignorant slut. Easy peasy.
Amelia’s smirk dropped as she snarled, “You can stay away from my man, bitch, that’s how you can help me.”
I will not slap her face, I will not slap her face…. All doctors swore to do no harm, but there were limits on how much whore fuckery she should have to deal with before she whooped a bitch’s ass.
“Your man?” Liz replied, her tone all confused innocence. “Who—”
Amelia growled. “Don’t play stupid with me, bitch. You know I’m talkin’ about Trouble. He is my man, he claimed me two years ago, and there is no way I am letting some fat, ugly, dumpy nobody try to take him from me.”
Fat. Ugly. Dumpy . What the fuck? She couldn’t help it, a snort escaped, followed by the most delirious cackle she’d ever cackled. Bending over, clutching her belly as she laughed, Liz could barely see Amelia’s face through the tears in her eyes. The woman looked all red-faced and incredulous, like she couldn’t believe Liz was laughing at her.
Liz couldn’t believe it, either. But it was either laugh…or let the pain of what Amelia said chip away at the hard-fought emotional wall Liz had built years before. The same wall that was crumbling more and more, the longer she lived with Trouble. Liz wasn’t an idealistic idiot; she knew Trouble was a manwhore who’d spent the last ten years dipping his dick into easy club pussy. And she also knew that since she’d started working for the club, Trouble had singled out Amelia—it was always Amelia he was kissing on, and touching, and basically fucking in the common room whenever Liz came through for work or to visit with the old ladies. Amelia was Trouble’s woman, that was clear, so what was with all the gentle touches, the talk of Liz being his only, and how he was going to build a future with her? Was he playing with Liz?
Suddenly, the laughter died, and with it, Liz’s patience.
Standing upright, she slammed her good hand down on her hip, and met Amelia’s glare with one of her own, one she’d perfected over years of dealing with bigger, more vicious bitches than Amelia—she had to have learned something in all her years in Foster care, and then all that time caring for the mean wives and mistresses of rich men.
Don’t slap the bitch…don’t stab the bitch….
“He’s your man, is he?” Liz drawled, shrugging.
Amelia huffed, then snapped, “Yes, he’s mine, has been for years. He dumped your ass, then he found me, claimed me—you can’t come back with that brat of yours and try to take him back.”
Liz surged forward, practically slamming their chests together in her need to get into Amelia’s face. Glaring death into Amelia’s suddenly wide, fearful eyes, Liz poked Amelia’s chest.
Her voice cold and deadly as black ice, she spoke, her lips inches from Amelia’s now pale face, “You ever call my daughter a brat again, I’ll be more than happy to show you my skills with a surgical blade.” Amelia reeled back, her eyes like saucers, but then the bitch was back.
Taking a step back—like the coward she was—she scoffed, crossed her arms, and sneered, “You can’t threaten me—Trouble is my ol’ man, which means when you threaten me, you threaten him, and I don’t think he’d take kindly to you talking shit to his woman.”
Was she serious?
Liz snorted. “You do realize that my daughter is his daughter, too, right? You think he’d take kindly to you calling his little girl a brat? You’d think he’d side with his whore over this daughter?” Liz hadn’t seen Trouble with Erika for all that long, but she knew, deep in her bones, that man loved his daughter. Would kill and maim and die for her. There was no way he’d take Amelia’s side over Erika’s, no matter how golden her pussy.
Amelia’s smirk returned with a vengeance, and Liz could see the calculation behind the other woman’s eyes.
“Of course, he’ll side with me. All I have to do is suck his fat cock and ride him until he comes—he’ll do whatever I say.”
Her words stung. Liz knew that Trouble and Amelia had fucked, but she didn’t need to hear the details of what they got up to.
Biting back the twinge of jealousy, Liz shrugged. “I doubt that, but go ahead and live in your land of delusions.”
Amelia stamped her foot—like a goddamn preschooler—then bragged, “He comes to me and then he comes —every night.” Liz’s eyebrows shot to her hairline at that. Seeing Liz’s reaction, Amelia chuckled, grinning like she won something. “Yeah, you’re surprised, but I don’t know why. Where do you think he is every night? He comes to me, we fuck, and then he tells me how much he can’t wait to get rid of you and that brat, so he and I can get married.”
Ignoring all the other shit Amelia said, Liz’s brain stuck on one thing….
“He’s with you… every night?” she asked cautiously.
Amelia’s grin only got more self-indulgent. “As soon as he’s done dealing with club business, he comes to me. I’m his ol’ lady, he misses me when he’s gone all day. Where else would he be?”
At home, with me and his daughter. There hadn’t been a single night since they’d moved in that Trouble hadn’t been there to tuck Erika in, then spend the rest of the night pestering her with his soft touches, forehead kisses, self-deprecating humor, and demands to know about all that happened over the last ten years they were apart. Some of the time, they didn’t talk at all, instead they watched reruns of American Restoration or American Pickers on the History Channel—both shows had grown on Liz, and she raptly watched as middle-aged white dudes got aroused over junk. No matter what she and Trouble did, Trouble was there, in his house, until Liz went to bed after midnight. Unless he was slipping out after she went to bed, Amelia was lying.
Not wanting to do a deep dive into the psyche of a two-faced clubwhore, Liz heaved a loud sigh, then turned away, giving her back to the other woman.
“Do and say what you want, Amelia, you will anyway. But I do suggest you keep my daughter out of your mouth. I don’t give a shit what you think, even if Trouble didn’t do something about it, you better believe I will.” Looking over her shoulder, Liz watched Amelia squirm. Turning back toward her desk to hide her humor at the woman’s obvious nervousness, Liz rolled her eyes at the woman’s retort.
“You’re a doctor, you can’t threaten me,” Amelia bleated.
Liz swung around, her grin as malicious as she could make it.
“I’m a mother first, Amelia. I will protect my daughter no matter what it takes, and if that means I slit your throat, lose my license, and spend the next twenty-five to life being some stallion stud’s bitch, I will. Don’t doubt me on that.”
Hopefully, having taken Liz’s words to heart, Amelia huffed, stamped her foot again, then flounced out of the room.
Trouble is my ol’ man…he comes to me…he and I can get married….
As Amelia’s words hit Liz again and again, she slumped down onto her desk chair and fought back the burning behind her eyes. She would not cry over Trouble. He wasn’t hers—no matter what he said. No matter the long-lost hopes and dreams of marriage and a happy life the younger Liz had woven with Erik Skaarsen ten years ago. Now, today, Amelia had claim to him, and Liz never had a true claim to him—he’d never been hers, even though she’d believed that with every beat of her heart.
According to what Trouble had admitted to Bonnie that night at Tipped, Trouble never wanted Liz, he’d only been after easy pussy, and she’d fallen so hard and so fast for him, she’d basically handed him everything he wanted on a silver platter. Easy pussy when he wanted it, a place to crash when he needed it, and all the ego stroking he desired. All he had to do was say and do what he thought she wanted, just to keep her dangling.
And once he was done with her, he’d scraped her off, breaking her to pieces in the process.
No. Trouble wasn’t hers. She didn’t want him, not anymore.
No matter how much her heart cried out for his.