Eternal Temptations (The Tempted Series Book 6) (37 page)

“No honeymoon then?” I question, as I crush the tip of my blunt with my fingers.

“Nah, after the baby is born I’m going to take her somewhere nice,” he says. “Now isn’t the time for me to go off the grid.”

“Yeah,” I sigh.

“We will make it right, Riggs,” he states.

“I know that,” I reply, pulling off my baseball hat and running my fingers roughly through my hair. “But listen, I called to wish you luck. It ain’t every day the Bulldog takes a wife. Fuck, wish I was there to see you in a monkey suit.”

“No monkey suit here, brother,” Jack says laughing.

“You’re getting married in your leathers?”

“Fucking, damn right, boy.”

“Take a fucking picture, please,” I laugh.

“I’m pretty sure I dished out a few G’s for a photographer. That motherfucker better take pictures of everything, someone sneezes he better capture it.”

“Well, I won’t keep you I just wanted to call and congratulate you. Reina’s great man, perfect for you, and we’re all lucky to have her around the clubhouse.”

“Thanks, brother, means a lot. Take care of you and yours.”

“Always,” I vow. Standing up, I turn around and face Lauren.

Shit.

Quickly, I disconnect the call and shove my phone into the pocket of my jeans and stare at a very pissed, very ferocious Kitten.

“Funny thing happened,” she starts, stepping toward me.

“Oh yeah?” I say, taking a step back trying to put some distance between us. She appears to be unarmed but I wasn’t a hundred percent positive, we were talking about Lauren, the girl who carried a can of Mace in her bag at all times.

“Hmm,” she hums, eyes bulging a little. “I don’t know who I am mad at most, me or you. Me, because I’ve been so distracted that I didn’t realize what today is or you for purposely lying and avoiding what today is.”

“What’re you talking about? It’s not your birthday. We didn’t get hitched yet so it can’t be our anniversary, wait, is it one of those fucking anniversaries that women make up just to torture a guy. You know, like the first time we fucked, or the first time we spoke on the phone. It’s one of those crazy fucking things, isn’t it?”

If I have learned anything hanging around mobsters it’s that you deny, deny, deny until the end.

“The first time we took a ride on my bike?” I offer, raising an eyebrow at her as she fists her hands and glares at me. “Okay, it’s not that.

This shit so wasn’t working. I was fucked. No, I was motherfucking fucked.

“Cut it out, Riggs,” she warns through clenched teeth. “You know exactly what today is. I heard you on the phone just now,” she hollers.

I groan, forgetting all about the phone call I literally just made. Kids, don’t smoke pot, it fucking fries your brain cells. It’s a shame Nancy Regan died, with my handsome face and her catchy slogan we could’ve resurrected the ‘Just Say No’ campaign.

“It’s Jack and Reina’s wedding and we’re here visiting with parents who you can barely tolerate,” she accuses, narrowing her eyes into tiny slits as she pokes her finger into my pecs. “And don’t you dare say you were trying to surprise me.”

“Weddings aren’t really my thing,” I lie, hoping to buy myself some time. Reaching for my temples I rub them, willing my brain cells to return and come up with a way to break it to Kitten we had a possible target on our backs.

“If you don’t give me a fucking explanation, then I am going back to that house, grabbing our son and crashing Jack’s wedding. Don’t fucking dare me, Riggs,
Wedding Crashers
is my favorite movie. I’ll ace that shit.”

God, she’s fucking sexy when she’s pissed. Did I mention how much I love her taste in movies too? I mean movie night at Casa Kitty is a damn good time, just last week we went on a
Rush Hour
marathon. Chris Tucker is my hero.

Focus Riggs!

“Wait a minute, where is Eric?”

“I sold him to a bunch of gypsies. Where do you think he is? With your parents!”

“Shit, Kitten, are you off your rocker? We’re going to go back there and he’s going to be wearing an ascot!”

She grabs my shirt with her fists and shakes her head.

“Why are we here, Riggs? The truth.”

“I can’t get into it, Lauren,” I say truthfully. The less she knows the safer she’ll remain, I hoped. “It’s club business but know that I’ve got it under control—Jack and the guys have it under control and us being here is just a precaution.”

Wrong fucking answer.

Releasing my shirt from her hands she takes a step back and her eyes go as wide as saucers.

“Club business?” She screeches.

“Yeah, but like I said I’ve got it under control.”

She stares at me bewildered, traces of hurt and confusion reflect in her baby blues I loved so much. Taking a step closer to her, she shakes her head insisting I don’t advance any closer. I watch as she grabs the neckline of her tank top and inch it down, revealing the offensive scar marking where the bullet entered her body. My eyes fall to the scar, anger boiling in my veins just as it always does whenever I see it.

“I think I deserve more than an elusive answer not only from your club but from you. Look at this scar, go on, Riggs, take a good look,” she demands. “I stare at this scar every day. Every day I am reminded that I was shot, remained in a coma for days, that our son was born premature because of a bullet. I almost died, Riggs, our son could’ve died too and Bones did die. Now, I have never thrown that in your face, not once because I know that you would have died right along with us if that bullet succeeded in what it set out to do. You’re not in a relationship with someone who is ignorant and naïve to the life you lead; I am Anthony Bianci’s sister. I have lived this shit since before you knew it existed, when you were Robert Montgomery and not Riggs. I know better than to demand inside information on what it is you do and what goes on behind the scenes of your club and I’m not asking. I am asking you to remember that you and I are a team and this is our family. If we are hiding out because something is going on with your club, then I deserve to know we are vulnerable. I deserve to know so there are two of us on high alert, protecting that innocent boy we brought into this world.” Her voice cracks as her lip quivers. With trembling hands, she reaches for mine and lays them over her stomach. “And the brother or sister we’re going to give him.”

My eyes immediately drop to her flat stomach covered with our hands, widening in shock as they lift back to hers. The blues of her eyes fill with tears as she answers the questions reflected in mine by nodding her head.

Still, I ask the question, needing the words.

“You’re pregnant?”

“Yes,” she cries. “I took a test before we left but I didn’t have time to make a doctor’s appointment because you came home and brought us here,” she explains, squeezing my hands tightly. “I can’t have history repeat itself, Riggs—”

I cut off her plea with my lips, gently covering hers with mine. It was an attempt to prove to her I wouldn’t let history repeat itself. The last time she told me she was pregnant I had an anxiety attack, lost my fucking shit at the thought of becoming a father. I didn’t kiss her; I didn’t give her all the words she needed to hear. Starting now, this very moment, I would prove to her everything would be different this time around. I’d be at every goddamn doctor’s appointment and I’d hold her damn hand as she delivered our kid. There was no way in hell history was repeating itself, no way I would let anyone take that from us—not this time, never again.

“Nothing will happen to you or either of our kids,” I declare, my voice rougher than usual. “We’re going to stay here until this shit dies down and Anthony and Jack can assure us both it’s safe for us to go back to Brooklyn.”

I lift my hands to her face, bend my knees as I cradle her face and stare into her framed eyes.

So ducking gorgeous my Kitten was.

Yeah, I said ducking.

We were having another Pea.

“I asked you to take a detour, you took my hand and ran. I asked you to fight your way back to me and Eric, you did it with vigor. I asked you to marry me, you said yes. I asked you to make another baby with me, you gave me another Pea. Now, I’m going to ask you to trust me, trust me with your life and the two we created together. I swear on everything I give a damn about, everything that matters, I will keep you safe. Are you going to take my hand and run with me one more time, Kitten?”

She lifts her hands to mine, her small hands close around my wrists.

“I’ll always run with you. I’ll hold on and swing right when there is an unexpected turn—”

“Detour,” I correct her, smiling back at my baby mama.

“I’ll run through every detour with you as long as you’re real with me. I promise you I can take it, I can handle everything you are and everything that’s thrown at us, but you need to trust that as much as I need to trust your capabilities of keeping us safe.”

“You got yourself a deal, babe,” I answer, brushing my lips across hers. I pull back, taking her hands in mine, placing her at arm’s length to fully take her in. “Fuck, I’m lucky.”

“Yeah, you are,” she laughs, dropping one of my hands to wipe at her cheeks. I tug her to my side and wrap my free arm around her, placing it on her belly.

“Well, that didn’t take long.” I pondered. “I think I have super sperm.”

She chuckles, turning her face into my chest, her laughter vibrating against my heart.

Music to my fucking ears.

I wanted more.

More laughter, less tears.

No fucking tears.

“Come on, Kitten, let’s shake things up at Casa Montgomery.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s tell Lenore she’s going to be a grandma again,” I laugh. “Shit, she’ll probably deplete the liquor supply but it’ll be fun to watch,” I kiss the top of her head before placing my index finger under her chin and cocking her head back so her eyes met mine. “I love you, Lauren Bianci.”

I grinned to myself.

I knocked up Kitten again.

I was going to have two little rug rats.

If I was a believer, I’d look up to the heavens and ask Him to keep sending the detours my way because they keep getting better and better.

With my baby mama tucked into my side, the threat of doom somewhere flapping in the wind, we take off to the main house to rescue our ascot wearing toddler and break the news to the oil diggers that there would be another Montgomery heir to spoil with their millions.

Life was good.

Nah, it was fucking great.

I dare someone to take this from me.

I fucking dare them.

I glanced down at the photo staring back at me on top of the bar. It had seen better days; the edges were frayed and there were thick creases in it from folding it so many times throughout the years. It was my favorite photograph of my son. His innocent smile was as bright as the sun and his eyes full of joy. I used to carry it everywhere with me hence the tattered condition it currently was in, but as the edges wore I realized it was too precious to take with me everywhere I went. It felt wrong bringing him along with all the illegal shit going on, exposing him to the grit and mayhem. He was pure and innocent when he left this earth and that’s how he shall remain. Then there was always the nagging in my head that I’d drop the fucking picture, forget it somewhere and I’d lose him all over again.

These days I keep the photograph on top of my dresser and it’s the first thing I see in the morning but today was different. I made a promise to my boy at his grave, told him I’d bring him with me for all the good, and today was the start of the good. Today, my ass was marrying Reina, and it didn’t get any better than that.

I pour myself a shot, knock back the whiskey before folding the photo delicately in half and sliding it into the inside pocket of my cut, covering my heart. All my kids will be with me when Reina becomes my wife. Lacey would stand across from me, alongside my wife, and my boy would be in my heart. Then there was our kid tucked safely in Reina’s belly. Seemed like a perfect fucking union if you asked me.

I turn around, taking in the transformation of my clubhouse and the clowns behind it. The prospects, Mack and Bosco, were lining up folding chairs, leaving a walkway in-between to make an aisle for Reina to walk down. Pipe was stringing Christmas lights around some sort of gazebo looking thing they brought in and placed in front of the reaper mural. Wolf, fucking Wolf, he was turning blue blowing up white balloons. Amused is what I was as I watched his cheeks fill with air as he blew into the white latex until his lungs threatened to collapse. He angrily ties a knot at the end and smacks the balloon away from him.

“Deuce, go hang those fucking things somewhere,” he orders breathless. “Hey, Pipe, you bastard, you still don’t know where the fucking air pump is?”

“I know where it is,” Pipe yells. “It’s at the garage where it fucking belongs.”

“When I have a fucking heart attack and drop dead, it’s your ass I’m haunting,” Wolf grounds out as the door opens and Linc walks in with a man carrying a box.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“The florist.” Linc points his thumb toward the man staring at the clubhouse in horror.” I checked him out, the only thing this motherfucker has is wire and a fancy pair of sheers. Says he needs them to cut the stems and all that shit, isn’t that right?”