9. Chapter 8
Trick – Twenty-Seven Years Old
I curl my lip as I eye my wife’s delicate signature on the bottom of the divorce papers that Cage’s old lady handed to me in church yesterday. I look at the black and white fucking ultrasound photo and clench my fist.
Fucking fury is churning deep in my gut, nah, fuck that, not fury, I’m about to go fucking scorched earth.
She didn’t question me. She didn’t even confront me and I get it—she doesn’t see our marriage as real.
I’ve spent six years pushing her away, making sure she doesn’t see it as real.
I felt like I raped my friend. I still feel like I did and it scared the shit out of me when I realized I was in love with her, that I fucking claimed her when I was ten years old.
Through therapy this past year, I’ve learned I can’t run from the love I feel toward my wife but she’s running now, and it hurts.
My old friend would have called me out, confronted me.
But she didn’t. Instead, she quit, believing I’d allow it.
I shake my head as I tear the divorce papers up and throw the pieces of paper in the trash and run my hand through my hair with frustration as I eye the custody papers next. If it is even possible, my anger doubles to the point I’m trembling.
I’ve barely fucking slept, I’m tired, and I’m ready to break shit.
One night a fucking week. That’s what my wife wants me to have with our daughter.
Again, I get it—I fucking do. I never stayed at home.
But I’m a constant in our child’s life otherwise.
The fact that she believes I would sign this shit and agree to being a part-time dad.
Fuck—not even part-time custody, but the divorce papers…
I think my wife needs to come back to reality, and by next week, she’ll be out of that fucking apartment and back at home where she belongs.
It didn’t take me long to find the temporary address that she rented under her maiden name, half an hour out of town. I knew I could have stormed the place last night, but I also knew I had to take a breather before I threw her over my fucking shoulder and pushed her further away.
I left Willow with Drew at her and Cage’s home, fully aware of the stipulations of the half-assed custody agreement, and went for a ride, and I haven’t left my office since I got back.
Belle picked Willow up for the school run for me this morning after Crash called her. Now I need to try and get my head together so I can get my wife back.
Why in the fuck did it take me a year to try and get my fucking head together? If I’d stopped running and fucking communicated with her, then maybe she wouldn’t believe I knocked someone up.
“I’ve asked around, and no one is speaking up about claiming to be knocked up with your kid,” Cage says as he takes a seat on the other side of my desk, and I look up to see his face hard, knowing I didn’t knock anyone up.
Knuckles slumps down next to him with the same expression while Crash stands in front of the closed door, so no one comes in, his face cold, his arms crossed over his chest.
“It was probably the same person who spiked my drink that could have killed me and nearly killed my wife,” I snap and I shove my hand through my hair, my eyes on the custody agreement.
I can't control my anger. It's overwhelming.
I thought I had time to convince Clark to try with me, but I guess I thought fucking wrong.
“We need proof,” Cage states, “The older generation still has a fucking say in who stays and in who goes, so without proof, we’re fucked.”
“Not if I kill the fucking bitch first,” I growl, and Cage winces, seeing how far gone I really am.
She’s trying to ruin my life, hoping to get my patch and the fucking brothers won’t take my word for it without proof that Lavender is the one causing all the shit.
“We need to change our by-laws,” Knuckles grunts, “We all know Lavender is the one who is claiming to be pregnant, and I’ve looked at that scan photo, it isn’t hers, it’s Mary’s from the diner who has now gone on maternity leave.
The bitch is playing with fire because she knows Clark never bothered with learning her legal name, and clearly she’s seen it isn’t Clark’s safety as to why you’ve stayed married to her, and she’s taking action. ”
“She’s been playing with fire for years,” Crash growls, “I’ve lost count on the amount of fucking times I’ve found her in Trick's bed masturbating, even while he’s on a run, it’s fucking disgusting.”
I eye the custody papers, and I lock my jaw.
“Lavender was leaning against the bar, her hand beside me. I never looked because I thought breaking eye contact wouldn’t be the best option.
Clearly, that was the wrong fucking move.
The bitch was spiking my drink,” I admit, not looking at the brothers.
My eyes go to my wedding band. “She was pissed when Alesia called her away. A few women witnessed her screeching and chucking shit after word got out about Clark and me. That’s why I knew who spiked my drink.
But according to the brothers, that wasn’t good enough for them. ”
“We’ll hold an officer meeting with the older generation and bring this shit up.
A club bunny's word should not be heard against an officer of the club,” Cage grunts, “And if I was in charge like I should have been she would have been gone in an instant but now I have no leverage without causing an uproar with the brothers.”
I nod before I sigh and look back at the custody papers before picking them up.
“I’ve torn up the divorce papers,” I admit as I hold the papers out to Crash, who frowns but walks over and takes them from me, and I state, “I thought you all would like to read the stipulations of the custody agreement my wife has made.”
“Fuck,” Crash rasps then reads, “no brother or woman that is a part of the club is to be alone with Willow and is to have minimal contact, and that changing of schools may be required,” he looks at me full of pain, “She’s never going to forgive us? Is she?”
I shake my head and confirm, “No,” not willing to lie to him, the years of silence from her proof, before I sigh, “As far as she’s concerned, you all sided with me when you knew she wanted to leave the club behind, to try and find herself and marry for love.”
“She did marry for love!” Crash snaps as he tears the custody papers up.
He growls, “For as long as I can remember, I’ve seen the looks between you two, attraction, confusion because of said attraction.
For fucking years I’ve watched you both ignore it, not thinking anything of it, but I knew you belonged together! ”
“We all did,” Knuckles adds, “I may have been closed off, but even I saw the chemistry between the two of you, and I watched Clark slowly fall in love with you, even if she doesn’t want to believe it.”
Cage continues, “You ended up in bed together for a reason. With the amount of shit in that drink, if there wasn’t something there, you could have found someone else.”
“Miles!” Clark gasps as she throws her head back, and I latch onto her nipple, biting it hard as I link my fingers with hers, placing our hands by her head, and her walls squeeze my rock-hard cock that doesn’t want to go down.
“Fuck, buttercup,” I slur and thrust inside her harder, tilting my hips at an angle, hitting her g-spot and the slapping of skin echoes with how hard I fuck her.
“She called me my legal name,” I admit, and Crash nods as Knuckles says, “And that is further proof of your feelings, brother, and I get it, you think you raped her, but brother, it wasn’t…”
I flinch and look down as I swallow hard before Cage asks quietly, “What do you want to do, brother?”
I eye my wedding band again, and I confess, “Fight for my marriage, or at least try before I have to lock her up.”
“Have you spoken to your therapist?” he asks, and I shake my head and admit, “Not since the other day.”
“What about asking Clark to come to a session?” Knuckles asks, and I look at him with furrowed brows.
He says, “Confess the shit about Lavender, the lies, then beg her to go to therapy with you. Ask your therapist if you can discuss whatever happened to make you close off, that way you’re not telling her so to speak, but she’s hearing the truth. ”
“It’s a good idea,” Crash says, “and I know my sister, it will work, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll win her over.”
“And if I don’t?” I ask, and Cage answers me, “Then we’ll help you kidnap her.”
I nod. It does sound like a good idea.
Cage commands, “Give her a week on her own.” I glare at him, but he puts his hand up and continues, “Make her think you’re looking at the papers.
Make her think a divorce is also what you want, then blindside her at work.
If you have to, drag her into a storage closet.
We know how stubborn our club princess can be but make her believe you’re agreeing with her. ”
“If you blindside her, she’ll be shocked enough to listen to you,” Knuckles says, and I nod and eye my wedding band.
“A week?” I confirm, and Crash finishes, “A week.”
Sure, what’s one week away from her when I’ve spent the past six years pushing her away and watching her from a distance without her even knowing?
Fuck, I don’t know if I can do a week anymore.