“Dammit,” Archer snaps and starts to pace.
He comes to a stop in front of me and grumbles, “You’re missing the point, Bee. He was in your house. Your home.”
“But you have him now, right?” I press, needing to know Robbie is taken care of.
“The open and shut indicated he walked into our trap, and there’s no way out. He stops breathing today.” His eyes are assessing my every move.
If he’s expecting me to freak out over his “he stops breathing today,” comment. Well, boo-freaking-hoo, that’s not me.
“I’ve never been one who expects everyone to sugarcoat things. I surely won’t expect it from you. I’ve heard and seen worse. That’s MC life. Our life. The good, the bad, the raw, and the ugly while family is always there to support and have your back no matter what. And I know you have my back no matter what. But that also means we talk about what’s going on so we can actually lean on one another.”
“I should have known you could handle it. Dammit, my mother is one of the strongest women I know but you . . . you’re magnificent,” he croaks and takes my face in his hands.
“I don’t know about that since it freaks me out that he was in my house. I’m not going back there. I’m moving in with you.” I shrug and give him a sheepish grin.
He shoots me one in return. “Not a problem, I wasn’t going to let you leave anyway. And talking about you moving in, I found a solution to your father having issues with us hooking up.”
“We’re already hooked,” I mutter. “What’s your brilliant plan?”
“It was something that popped into my head when I was talking to Kain earlier.”
“And?” I press.
“I’m gonna knock you up. We’ll get married and there won’t be anything keeping us apart then.”
I have to blink very slowly as I process his words. “The thought that popped into your head was to pop something into my womb. Brilliant, Archer.” I shake my head and snort a laugh, but he’s not laughing. He’s looking at me with such intent I have to swallow at the desire flooding my body.
“You’re serious?” I croak.
“As a fucking heart attack.” His lips cover mine and all I can do is surrender to the way he dominates my mouth in an all-consuming kiss.
CHAPTER ONE
Present day
– BEATRICE –
Punch, punch, hard. Punch, punch, hard, I mentally chant as I let my glove-covered hands land punch after punch on the dummy in front of me. Left. Left. Right. My breathing is choppy and you could say I’m working out to lose all the weight I’ve gained during–and after–my pregnancy, but to be honest…I’m just blowing off steam.
Getting a model-like figure isn’t in the books for me. My hips, thighs, and ass have always been curvy no matter my diet and activities. I gave birth to a beautiful little girl four months ago and my belly is no longer flat but a bit round to add to the curvy package deal my body consists of.
A stark contrast of the woman with the tight red skirt–barely covering her ass–who is staring at me. One of the hangarounds single bikers like to use for a quick round of fun. That’s putting it nicely since those bikers like to address it as an easy lay or a fuck, good mouth pounding, whatever.
I fire off another round of punches. I should feel sorry for the dummy, getting the brunt of my anger while I should be talking to my old man. I have frustrations. Issues. Hell, I don’t know what I have but I’m angry and not feeling like myself.
It’s because you’re still adjusting to being a mom. It’s because you two got together and put everything on lightning speed. It’s because he took over as president of Broken Deeds MC at a hard time while starting a relationship with you. He’s a busy man. There’s a lot going on you don’t know about.
I’ve heard, and told myself, every damn excuse and reason why I’m struggling and yet nothing sounds or feels right. And yes, I’m struggling. I’m not afraid to admit it’s all me. Also due to the fact Archer seems to be oblivious. And to be honest? I don’t even have a clue why I’m this angry and frustrated all the damn time.
“There you are,” a voice from right beside me says, scaring the crap out of me and making my punch slide free, almost clocking the one who interrupts me.
Archer dodges my punch effortlessly. There’s an appreciative grin sliding over his face as he steps closer. Desire like wildfire is dancing in his eyes, reminding me it’s not him, it’s me and that thought saddens me.
“Archer,” the bitch with the tight skirt and function of an easy lay screeches like nails on a chalkboard. “Can I have a word, please?”
Oh, right, now I remember…It’s not me; it’s the everlasting demand around here, and Archer feels he has to constantly carry the weight solely on his shoulders. Ugh. It is me because I’m selfish.
He’s the president of an MC who secretly handles cases the government can’t seem to close. They are allowed to use any means necessary to bring the criminals to justice. He does have a large responsibility to guide this process correctly, and handle the MC along with it.
And let’s not forget our daughter who he spends time with. He’s also a tattoo artist, he owns a tattoo shop along with a few others where he works a few days a week. And yes, then there’s me, his wife, his old lady, the mother of his child and the one who takes care of everything else concerning our family.
Sadness hits me again because I am complaining about feeling neglected, not important, second…hell, fifth or sixth place on his list of priorities. When the hell did I get so needy and uncertain? I know the first week in our relationship he called me his number one priority, and I know deep down I still am.
Maybe the dragging routine of handling everything myself and not having a job the way I used to, to feel needed, or be an asset makes me overthink everything. I used to help my mother with computer stuff. Hacking, programming, finding information and cracking codes, anything surrounding computers I considered a challenge.
When I moved in with Archer, I left my laptop behind with my mother; it had Areion Fury MC information on it and the laptop technically belonged to my mother.
Dammit. A sigh rips from me. Maybe I need to buy one to put my brain to work, or volunteer to do little things for elderly people again. Hell, I’d try anything to shake this negativity I’m feeling.
Archer curses and grumbles, “I’ll be right there, Cora.”
He wraps his fingers around the back of my neck to pull me close and places a soft kiss on my forehead–not minding my sweaty skin–as he says, “Every damn time I have a few minutes to spare, something else pops up. I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Yeah, fine. Whatever,” I grumble.
For the first time I can’t even manage to hide my damn frustrations. And it shows because Archer instantly pulls back and gives me a worried look.
“What’s wrong?” His brow furrows.
Crap. He’s always ready to face the world, and here I am…not even capable of uttering one single word to answer a simple question I don’t even know the answer to.
“Nothing. I need a shower, I’m beat.” I step away from him and bring one of my hands to my mouth and start to rip at the Velcro strap in an effort to take off the gloves.