Chapter 6 - Lucy
I splash cold water on my face, trying to make sense of everything that's happened in the last few hours. The woman in the mirror looks both familiar and strange – still me, but somehow different. Like stepping into this world has already changed me somehow.
What am I doing? Leaving Anna with bikers, kissing Wrath's cheek, agreeing to stay in the President's room?
Twenty-four hours ago, I was reading bedtime stories in my quiet suburban home. Now I'm in a motorcycle club's compound, trusting my baby with men who probably have kill counts higher than their age.
But the way Hellfire held her, so careful and practiced... The way Crow's face lit up at being an uncle... The way Wrath...
God, Wrath. He's nothing like I remembered and exactly the same all at once. That night a year ago, he'd been intense but gentle, dangerous but protective. Now I see why. Everything about him – his strength, his hardness, his fierce loyalty – it all comes from protecting what's his. From making sure no one else ever feels as helpless as he did as a child.
And now Anna is his. We both are, in a way.
I dry my face with a surprisingly soft towel and change into sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt. It's all I packed, not expecting to spend the night anywhere but home. Definitely not expecting to share a room with Wrath again.
My hand rests on the doorknob. Through the door, I can hear him moving around the room, his boots heavy on the wooden floor. My heart thunders in my chest as I remember the last time we shared a room. His hands on my skin, his lips on my neck, the way he'd whispered my name like a prayer...
"Get it together, Lucy," I mutter to my reflection. "That was then. This is about Anna now."
But even as I think it, I know it's not entirely true. Because the way he looked at me earlier, when we almost kissed... That wasn't about Anna at all.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door.
The door opens and Wrath turns, his eyes darkening as they take in my sleep clothes. He's removed his cut, standing there in just a black t-shirt that clings to his muscles. For a moment, he looks at me like I'm some kind of mirage.
Then suddenly he's near me, his rough hands finding my hips, pulling me close.
"Lucy..." His voice is raw, desperate. "I let you go once. Not happening again."
His lips crash into mine, and it's exactly like I remember – passionate, demanding, yet somehow tender. His tongue traces my bottom lip, and I open for him with a soft moan. One of his hands slides up my back, under my shirt, his calloused fingers leaving trails of fire on my skin.
But when he starts to lift my shirt, reality crashes back in. I press my hands against his chest, breaking the kiss.
"Wait," I gasp. "Wrath, wait."
He pulls back slightly, but his hands stay on my hips. "What's wrong?"
"Is this..." I swallow hard, trying to think straight despite how good he feels against me. "Is this because of Anna? Because you don't have to be with me just because we have a daughter together."
His eyes narrow, and for a moment I think I've made him angry. Then he presses his forehead against mine, his breath warm on my face.
"You think that's what this is?" he asks roughly. "You think I'm trying to play house?"
"I don't know what this is," I admit. "Everything's happening so fast, and Anna needs you, but I don't want you to feel obligated to—"
"Obligated?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Lucy, I wanted to call you every damn day after that night. Wanted to find you, to see if what I felt was real or just in my head." His thumb traces my jawline. "Anna isn't why I want you. She's why I finally get to have you."
"Oh," I breathe, my heart racing. "That's... oh."
His lips brush mine again, softer this time. "Tell me to stop," he whispers. "Tell me this isn't what you want."
Instead of answering, I slide my hands up his chest and into his hair, pulling him down for another kiss. Because I've thought about him too. Dreamed about him. Not just because he's Anna's father, but because no one has ever made me feel the way he did that night.
"Lucy," he groans against my mouth. "You sure?"
"Yes," I whisper. "Yes."
His hands slide under my shirt again, this time with purpose, dragging it up and over my head. My breasts spill free, and Wrath's eyes widen as he takes me in.
"Still perfect," he groans, palming one breast, his thumb grazing my nipple. "Been thinking about these for a year."
Heat floods my body at his touch. I arch into his hand, remembering how good he made me feel that night. How good he can make me feel again.
"Too many clothes," I murmur, tugging at his shirt.
He pulls it off, revealing the muscled chest I've dreamed about. New tattoos curve across his ribs, ink telling stories I want to learn. New scars, too – evidence of the dangerous life he leads.
I press my lips to a particularly jagged one near his collarbone. "What happened here?"
"Knife fight. Six months ago." His breath hitches as I trace the scar with my tongue. "Club business."
"And here?" I touch another one, lower on his abdomen.
"Bullet graze. Not important." His hands tangle in my hair. "Lucy..."
The desire in his voice sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs. Without thinking, I drop to my knees before him, my fingers working his belt buckle. His breath hisses through his teeth as I pull down his jeans, revealing the impressive bulge straining against his black boxer briefs.
"Fuck," he whispers as I mouth him through the fabric. "Baby..."
I hook my fingers into his waistband and pull down, freeing him. He's exactly as I remember – thick, long, already hard for me. My mouth waters at the sight.
"Missed this," I admit, wrapping my hand around his shaft. "Missed you."
His hands tighten in my hair as I take him into my mouth, the familiar weight of his cock on my tongue sending shivers down my spine. I swirl my tongue around the head, tasting the first drops of his excitement.
"Jesus, Lucy," he growls.
I reach up with my free hand, gently cupping his balls the way I remember he likes, rolling them softly between my fingers as I take him deeper. His groan of pleasure confirms my memory.
"Just like that," he encourages, his voice strained. "Fuck, I dreamed about that mouth."
I hum around him, pleased by his reaction, by the way his thighs tense under my touch. For all his strength, all his power, right now he's at my mercy. It's intoxicating.
I work him with my mouth and hands, remembering everything he loved that night – the extra pressure just under the head, the gentle squeeze of his balls, the way he liked it when I looked up at him.
When I meet his eyes now, the raw hunger I see there makes me clench with need. His hands guide my movements, not forceful but appreciative, showing me exactly what he wants.
"Stop," he finally gasps, pulling me off him. "Not gonna last if you keep that up."
He helps me to my feet, then lifts me effortlessly, carrying me to the bed. My shorts and panties disappear under his skilled hands, and then I'm naked beneath him, my body trembling with anticipation.
"Been too long," he murmurs, trailing kisses down my neck. "Need to fuck you again."
He braces himself above me, his powerful arms caging me in as he stares down with an intensity that steals my breath. The way he looks at me – like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, like he can't believe I'm real – makes me feel more desired, more appreciated than I've ever felt before.
"You have no idea how many times I thought about this," he says, his voice rough with desire. "About you. Under me. Just like this."
His eyes travel over my naked body slowly, appreciatively. Where I expected to feel self-conscious – my post-baby body isn't the same as it was that night a year ago – I instead feel beautiful. Wanted. Cherished.
"You're fucking perfect," he growls, lowering his head to capture one nipple in his mouth.
I gasp as he sucks and teases, his tongue circling the sensitive nipple. My breasts are more sensitive since having Anna, and the pleasure is almost overwhelming. When he moves to the other breast, his hand slides between my thighs, finding me already wet and ready for him.
"So wet for me," he murmurs against my skin. "Just like before."
His fingers explore me skillfully, remembering exactly how to touch me. One thick finger slides inside while his thumb circles my clit, and my hips buck against his hand.
"Wrath," I moan, clinging to his shoulders. "Please..."
He looks up, his eyes meeting mine as he adds a second finger.
"Please what, baby? Tell me what you need."
"You," I gasp as his fingers curl, finding that perfect spot inside me. "Need you inside me."
He kisses his way back up my body until his lips hover just above mine.
"Look at me," he commands softly. "Want to see your eyes when I push inside you."
I obey, holding his gaze as he positions himself at my entrance. Then, with one powerful thrust, he fills me completely. The stretch feels incredible, my body remembering him, welcoming him home.
"Fuck," he groans, staying still for a moment. "So tight. So perfect."
He starts to move, long, deep strokes that have me clawing at his back. Each thrust pushes me higher, closer to the edge. The way he watches me – his eyes never leaving mine – makes the connection feel deeper than just physical.
"Missed this," he murmurs, his pace increasing. "Missed you."
"Missed you too," I breathe, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders as he hastens his pace. "So much."
He's beautiful above me—powerful, intense, his eyes never leaving mine as he drives into me. The connection feels almost spiritual, like he's claiming more than just my body.
A particularly deep thrust hits something perfect inside me, and I moan loudly before quickly covering my mouth with my hand, suddenly remembering where we are.
Wrath smiles, a glint in his eyes.
"Turn around," he commands softly. "Face down."
I obey without hesitation, turning onto my stomach. He positions himself over me, one hand guiding my hips up slightly while the other aligns his cock with my entrance. Then he's pushing back inside, the new angle allowing him to go deeper.
"Oh God," I gasp into the pillow as he covers my body with his, his chest pressed against my back, his weight deliciously heavy on me.
"Now you can be as loud as you want," he whispers in my ear. "Pillow'll muffle it."
He starts moving again, his hips driving forward without mercy. Each thrust pushes me further into the mattress, the friction against my sensitive clit adding to the overwhelming pleasure. I'm completely at his mercy, pinned beneath him as he takes what's his.
Sweat trickles down my forehead as I scream into the pillows, the sounds muffled but still desperate. My fingers grip the sheets so tightly my knuckles turn white. I'm helpless beneath him, unable to do anything but take the pleasure he's giving me.
"That's it," he growls in my ear, one hand sliding beneath me to cup my breast. "Take it all, baby. Every fucking inch."
His pace becomes more brutal, more primal. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with his grunts and my muffled cries. I can feel myself tightening around him, my body racing toward release.
"Wrath," I manage to gasp. "I'm close... so close..."
"Come for me," he demands, his lips against my neck. "Squeeze this cock, Lucy. Show me how good it feels."
His words push me over the edge. My body convulses beneath him, waves of pleasure crashing through me as I cry out into the pillow. He doesn't slow down, fucking me through my orgasm, prolonging it until I'm shaking and whimpering beneath him.
I push back against him, throwing my ass back to meet his thrusts. The action drives him deeper, and I feel him swell inside me.
"Fuck, Lucy," he groans, his rhythm faltering. "I'm gonna—"
His fingers dig into my hips as he slams forward one final time, holding himself deep as he starts to pulse inside me. I can feel each hot spurt filling me, his cock throbbing as he empties himself with a guttural moan that has my whole body shaking.
For several moments, we stay frozen in that position, both of us panting, his body heavy on top of mine. Then slowly, carefully, he rolls to the side, bringing me with him so we're spooned together, his softening cock still inside me.
I glance back over my shoulder, a playful smile forming despite my exhaustion. "Let's hope we don't go two for two with kids."
"Wouldn't be the worst thing," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. "Anna could use a brother or sister."
The casual way he says it – like having another child together is a foregone conclusion – makes my heart skip. Twenty-four hours ago, he didn't even know he had a daughter. Now he's already thinking about more children.
"One crisis at a time," I tell him, though I can't deny the image that flashes through my mind – a little boy with Wrath's dark eyes and my smile, Anna cuddling next to him.
His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer against his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat against my back is oddly comforting.
"You're right," he says, his voice softer than I've ever heard it. "First we get Anna's surgery sorted. Then..." His lips brush my neck. "Then we figure out the rest."
The rest. Such a simple phrase for something so complicated. Moving in together, merging our lives, figuring out how a kindergarten teacher and a biker can make this work.
"Wrath?" I whisper, suddenly needing to know. "What is this? Between us?"
He's quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing circles on my hip.
"You know what it is," he finally says. "What it's been since that first night. Anna just gave us the excuse to stop running from it."
"And the club?" I ask. "Will they accept... this?"
His laugh rumbles against my back. "Baby, you just gave Iron & Blood its first princess. Trust me, they already love you."
As if on cue, a baby's laugh echoes from upstairs, followed by what sounds like Crow making motorcycle noises. Wrath's body relaxes at the sound.
"Should we go check on her?" I ask, though my body protests the idea of moving.
"Nah." He presses another kiss to my shoulder. "Hellfire and my brother got her. Besides..." His hand slides up to cup my breast. "I'm not done with you yet."
Heat pools in my belly again at his words, at the possessive way he touches me. "Oh really?"
"Really." He shifts his hips, and I feel him hardening again inside me. "Got a year to make up for."
As his hands start to roam my body with renewed purpose, I realize something: This dangerous man, this biker who deals in violence and blood, has somehow become my safe harbor. The father of my child. The keeper of my heart.
It should feel overwhelming, this sudden change in our lives. Instead, as Wrath's hands and lips begin to work their magic on my body again, it just feels like coming home.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
A MONTH LATER
The hospital waiting room is too bright, too sterile. My hand grips Wrath's so tightly my knuckles are white, but he doesn't complain. He sits beside me, still as a statue, only the muscle jumping in his jaw betraying his tension.
I still can't believe how quickly he made this happen. True to his word, the morning after that first night, he'd made some calls. By afternoon, we had an appointment with the best pediatric cardiac surgeon in the state. By the end of the week, Anna was scheduled for surgery.
"Money's not an issue," he'd said when I tried to discuss payment. "The club has resources."
I didn't ask where those resources came from. Some things, I've learned, are better left unknown.
The sound of boots on linoleum makes me look up. The entire waiting room is filled with leather-clad bikers. Crow paces near the vending machines, while Hellfire sits stoically in the corner, his presence somehow reassuring. Angel and Ruthless occupy the chairs across from us, and various other members are scattered around, all wearing their cuts despite the hospital staff's obvious discomfort.
Iron & Blood showed up in force for their princess.
"She's strong," Wrath says suddenly, his voice rough. "Like her old man."
I squeeze his hand. "Like both her parents."
The past 3 weeks have been a whirlwind. Moving into Wrath's house (he refused to let us stay at the clubhouse permanently), watching him become a father (he's surprisingly good at bedtime stories), navigating this new life together (my kindergarten class loves when he picks me up on his bike).
"You’re Anna’s parents, right?"
We both look up to see the surgeon approaching. Wrath stands, pulling me with him, his hand still gripping mine.
"How is she?" he demands, and I hear the barely contained fear in his voice. The same fear that's been choking me since they took our baby away three hours ago.
The surgeon smiles.
"The surgery was a complete success," the surgeon says, and the entire room seems to exhale at once. "Anna did beautifully. Her heart is responding well to the correction, and her oxygen levels are already improving."
My knees go weak with relief. Wrath's arm slides around my waist, supporting me, though I feel him trembling slightly too.
"When can we see her?" he asks, his voice rougher than usual.
"She's in recovery now. Once she's moved to pediatric ICU, you can go in. Two at a time." The surgeon glances at the room full of bikers. "I assume these are all family?"
"They are," Wrath confirms, no room for argument in his tone.
Behind us, I hear Crow let out a shaky laugh of relief. Angel is crying quietly into Ruthless's cut. Hellfire stands, moving closer to us with that commanding presence that seems to part the very air.
"Thank you, Doctor," our President says formally. "The club appreciates your work."
The surgeon nods, seeming to understand the weight of those words.
"A nurse will come get you when she's ready for visitors." He pauses. "She's a fighter, your little girl. Never seen a baby so young handle surgery so well."
"Iron & Blood blood," Crow calls out proudly, and murmurs of agreement ripple through the room.
Once the surgeon leaves, Wrath turns to me, pressing his forehead against mine. "She did it, baby. Our girl did it."
Tears stream down my face as I clutch his cut. "Thank you," I whisper. "For making this happen. For everything."
His lips brush mine softly. "Anything for my family."
Family. The word means something different now than it did weeks ago. It means Anna, of course, but also this room full of dangerous men who would die to protect her. It means Wrath, who's become not just Anna's father but my partner, my protector, my love.
A nurse appears in the doorway after a while.
"She's ready for visitors."
Wrath's hand finds mine again as we follow her. Behind us, I hear Hellfire organizing visiting rotations, making sure everyone gets their turn to see their princess.
As we walk down the sterile hallway, I glance up at Wrath. His face is set in its usual hard lines, but his eyes... his eyes tell a different story. They're soft, vulnerable, filled with a love so fierce that it can’t be contained.
"Ready?" he asks as we reach the PICU door.
I squeeze his hand. "Ready."
Together, we step forward to see our daughter.