Goddamn man.
And his stupid beard.
And his ripped body.
And his rugged good looks.
“You bring a pen?” I pressed my hand to my heart, trying to keep it from leaping straight out of my chest. Jesus Christ. Huntsman dragged out the chair opposite me and dropped into it, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ve got shit to do.”
Crinkling my nose, I reached into my handbag and pulled out a ballpoint pen, placing it on the files and sliding them across the table. “You didn’t seem so busy a few minutes ago.”
He’d begun to reach for the documents but paused, his hand hovering in the air for a second before dropping it with a thud on the small table. I stilled, suddenly very aware of who I was talking to. Huntsman wasn’t just some cocky, brooding biker. He was my boss.
“I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”
“You’re damn right,” he warned, picking up the pen finally and wrapping his large fingers around it. Though, the tension settling in the air around us made it feel like those fingers were on my throat. Squeezing. “What I do in my own fucking clubhouse is none of your business. And neither is where I stick my cock. Unless I’m sticking it in you. So, are you fucking offering?”
“No, sir,” I rushed out, my brain winning out over my pussy, which was screaming yes, sir. “No. You’re right. I apologize.”
He clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring before he finally opened my folder.
The deep suffocating breath I’d been holding finally eased out, my shoulders falling with the long steady breath. The apology tasted bitter, burning my tongue.
I’d spent a large part of my life letting men dictate my life, with orders, and threats, and abuse. I told myself a long time ago I wouldn’t allow myself to sink below them. No matter what, even if it meant sacrificing.
But the truth was, this was my dream job.
It would give us so much stability.
It would allow us to stop running.
And if I had to suck up a little bit of my pride for now and give in to this arrogant asshole—so be it. Lesson learned.
From now on, if Drake wasn’t around to deal with problems, those problems could wait. The energy Huntsman had swirling around him was too much. It was intense, like a cyclone. One I knew could so easily suck me in and tear me to shreds.
Though, I was fairly sure I would probably love it.
“Is that all?” He flicked the folder closed, placing the pen on the top and sliding back across the table, standing at the same time.
I blinked several times, frowning as I leaped to my feet. “Um. Yeah. I thought you would want to take a good look. Maybe ask why I’d made the changes?” Now we were both standing, just a few feet separating us, and I was suddenly acutely aware of just how large this man was.
His broad shoulders and muscular upper body were practically bursting against the black shirt he was wearing underneath his leather vest, the arms looking like they could rip open at any second. There wasn’t a lot of difference in our height, maybe a couple of inches, but I still felt like his presence made it feel like he was towering over me.
He was larger than life.
“Drake trusts you. Said you do good work,” he answered. “I trust my son’s judgment.”
I couldn’t help the swell in my chest at his words. Knowing Drake had faith in my work and my design concreted my need to fight for this job, to prove even further what I was capable of.
That also meant focusing on work.
“Is that all?”
His sharp question startled me, but I quickly nodded, gathering the papers in my hands and shuffled them like the man’s mere presence didn’t make my heart race for reasons I couldn’t explain.
Or that I, at least, just didn’t want to explain.
“Yes. Thank you.”
Because falling for the boss was not part of the plan.
6
Huntsman
Having Zoey see me with my dick buried deep in Amber’s throat should have been a good thing.
She was here so we could keep her and her kid safe.
Not so I could fall for her feisty fucking smart mouth.
Yet here I was, ready to walk out after her and drag her back in like a fucking caveman, just so I could see how fucking red I could make her ass for talking back.
“She’s nice, right?” Ripley commented, trying to act casual like he hadn’t just stirred the fucking pot. When he caught my glare, he rolled his eyes dramatically. “She’s your fucking type, old man.”
“I don’t have a type,” I argued, walking away, hoping he’d take the fucking hint, but I should have known better.
“Independent, smart, razor-sharp tongue, and she’s not afraid to use it to put you in your place.” I didn’t respond, but his footsteps followed me down the hall to my office. “Don’t you think it’s about time you took another old lady?”
I paused, bracing my hands on my desk and hanging my head. “Ripley, just leave it.”
“Maybe I don’t want to leave it. Maybe I want to see you get over all that fucking guilt you still carry inside you,” he continued, not about to give up, but I should have known that. I fucking raised him. “It’s not your fault Mom was unhappy. It’s not your fault she felt like she couldn’t escape.”
Talking about Josie always made me feel ill. We were both too young back then to feel like we had a say in our own futures. We both grew up in the club, we did what was expected of us, and we didn’t fucking argue.
Did I love her? Yes, but not for the reasons you’d expect. I grew protective of her. Almost like a big brother would. I wanted her to be happy, but when she looked at me, for the most part, all she could see was prison walls.
She was tied to me.
Her parents refused to let her take any other path that didn’t lead exactly my way. And that meant eventually, she didn’t see me as her husband or as the father of her children.
She saw me as her captor.
The concept of love in her mind was illusive. It was something that people only imagined because she couldn’t understand why no one would give theirs to her. Why they couldn’t love her enough to let her follow her own path. Why I didn’t love her enough to fight our parents to set her free.
“Zoey would be good for you.”
“That’s enough, Ripley,” I growled, finally falling back into my desk chair. The same one I’d been sitting in about twenty minutes ago when I couldn’t fucking come in some club girl’s mouth because all my dick wanted was Zoey’s.
Fuck me.
My son stormed out of my office finally, and I allowed my shoulders to relax into my chair. I had to remind myself, there was a reason she was here. And I needed to start keeping my eyes on our surroundings instead of her perfect fucking ass.
If you’d told me a couple years back that I’d be celebrating the fact that my daughter was having a baby—with a member of another MC—I would have laughed in your fucking face.
Firstly, for the fact that I didn’t even know I had a daughter.
Secondly, because the idea of one of my children being with someone from another club was something they knew wasn’t done. But goddammit, if I couldn’t stop myself from smiling as I watched Meyah’s face light up, as her man picked her up off her feet and swung her around in a circle. That was how it should be.