Haunt (Bayonet Scars #6) (11 page)

“We’ll talk about that after I decide whether or not you’re getting the chance to know my boy,” she says with an angry venom that seethes from her voice. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a hurt underneath it all that she’s trying to hide. She is strength and vulnerability all at once. She is every inch the ferocious mother to our son I knew she’d be. I didn’t just fall haphazardly in love with her all those years ago. I chose her because of everything that makes her who she is, but most of all because of this. Because Amber will scorch the earth to keep her loved ones safe. She did it for me once, and in that moment I knew she was and always would be the only woman I’d ever want to mother my children. I’ve always loved her, but now, as she rips me apart in defense of our son, I’ve never loved her more.

“You come into
my
clubhouse after fourteen years and throw me attitude about shit you know nothing about, and I let it go.” I try to keep my voice level, but it’s no use. Everything in me feels like it’s exploding all at once. Every ounce of love I’ve ever had for this woman is fighting its way to the surface, practically strangling me on its way out. My words are all gravel and broken glass despite the passion behind them. Her brows are knit together, her eyes narrowed, lips parted. She’s ready to fight, but I refuse to spend any more time fighting with this woman.

Three steps and we’re so close that I’m staring down at her with a craned neck just so I can meet her eyes. I reach out, finding purchase on her hip. She jerks back quickly but still not fast enough. This is our dance. We know the others’ moves so well that it’s become second nature. With my other hand, I pull her flush against me. She stops pulling back and glares up at me with annoyed green eyes that betray her. She likes this. She missed it. I can see it in the way her eyes lift in the corners as she smiles softly.

“Look at me,” I say even though her eyes were already on mine.

“I am,” she defends.

“No, you’re not. I’m clean. Tell me the last time you’ve seen me straight.” It takes a moment, but then she gets it. Her face softens, and a sad smile graces the most gorgeous fucking lips I’ve ever seen. “I’m not that man anymore. A couple of years ago you laid that same shit on me you did the other day, and I ran like a fucking coward. Two years before that, five before that. Who knows how many times I’ve run the other fucking direction because I couldn’t handle the thought of fucking things up with you again.”

My chest heaves with the weight of my confession. I’ve spent three days thinking about this—about her, about him—and figuring out what I was going to say when the time came. I thought I’d have a few more days, but here it is. Amber’s got to know that I’m in this and I’m clear headed and I can be the man both she and our son need.

Searching her eyes, I try to find some indication that she gets me. That she believes me. I
need
her to trust in me again. Amber’s eyes fall closed for a moment before she opens them again and looks up at me with a fear I haven’t seen since we stared at that pregnancy test that told us our entire world was changing. There’s so much I want to say, but I can’t find my voice.

With slow movements, she reaches up and places her hands on my chest, trailing them up to my shoulders. She reaches up to my neck, and just like a dance we’ve performed a thousand times, I know what this means. I wrap my hands around the backs of her legs and lift her up. She’s still so light in my arms compared to the enormity of her presence in my life. With her legs wrapped around my hips, she presses herself against me as tight as she can and leans in so close that our noses touch.

“You can’t hurt him.” It’s a plea on the tail end of a whisper. “He’s so much like you, all big mouth and attitude, but inside, he’s just a little boy who’s scared his dad won’t love him.”

A tear falls from her eyes. She pulls the others back quickly, but it’s enough. I don’t ruin the moment by telling her that he sounds like his momma, even though he does. God, I bet he’s fucking beautiful. I’ve spent hours thinking about what he looks like. I hope I see some of me in him. I just want to know what that looks like. Before he was even born I used to wish for him to be a certain way. I wanted him to be tall and have his mother’s nose. I wanted so much for him. But now, I don’t even have to wish because whatever he looks like, however he talks . . . none of it matters. He’s perfect. I already know it because he’s ours.

He’s mine.

“Tell me more,” I say.

“He was born on time. Only time in his life he’s not been late.” Her eyes are closed and she’s smiling. She’s fucking smiling. It shatters me.

“His first word was something close to
damn
. My fault. He never got sick, still doesn’t, even though he’d spend hours playing out in the cold. He doesn’t have a lot of friends at school. His mouth pisses a lot of kids off, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. Girls are a problem. I’ve been doing more target practice since he had his growth spurt. Unfortunately, the kid loves guns. He’s addicted to video games and pepperoni pizza. His full name is Zander Wyatt Strand, and he’s the most infuriating, lovable boy on the planet.”

She named him after me.

“More,” I demand. I’m greedy. I need everything I can get. The more I hear, the more I crumble in her arms. Very slowly, I lower us to the floor. She tells me his favorite color is red, followed closely by black, because they’re Forsaken’s colors. She tells me how she’s never hidden anything from him, that she doesn’t believe in babying children. She tells me all these little things about him that still aren’t enough. And when she takes a breath to think, I kiss her.

My lips slide against hers slowly. She nips at my lips hungrily. Her back is on the dirty floor now, and she’s bucking her hips into me. My already hard dick aches from behind the confines of my jeans. Everything about this moment feels right. Everything is perfect. Even in this dirty-ass room, it couldn’t be anything less than perfect. Using one arm to prop myself up, I slip a hand inside her yoga pants right under her panties. She’s natural—always has been—and it’s fucking glorious. I’m damn tired of the prissy bitches who are always so perfectly shaven or waxed. I always want to tell them that real men don’t give a fuck about that kind of shit. If your pussy’s wet and your legs are spread, we’ll hit it. And if we don’t, it’s not because you didn’t wax. But that would require me to talk to them, which tends to confuse things.

But not with Amber.

Never with Amber.

She bucks underneath me, greedy for more. I slide my fingers through her soft, curly hair, and finally, fucking finally make contact with her pussy. Fuck. I’ve missed this. She wets my fingers before I even part her gorgeous lips. I can’t see them—yet—but I know they’re wet and shining. Mugs has got this kind of switch that she can turn on at will it seems. My thumb parts her lips and slides up and down her hot pussy before I land on her clit.

“Tell me you missed me.” I rub slow, methodical circles over her swollen nub, just barely ghosting the skin with my thumb. Amber sucks in a shaky breath, her back arches, and she moans in need.

“I missed you,” she says. Feeling victorious, I press harder and take her mouth again. I pace myself, not wanting this to be over too soon. It’s been three years since I’ve been here with her. Three long years of feeling like a thirsty man in a desert, desperate for a little water. And even then all I got was a sip. Not nearly enough.

One finger—one lucky fucking finger—slides inside of her. Three pumps and then another finger joins it. I watch her writhe beneath me, the walls of her pussy clamping down on my fingers. My lungs pull in a greedy breath as excitement courses through me. I lick my lips in anticipation. I don’t want this to end, but she won’t hold out for any longer. I can feel it in the way she grips me, in how her back arches, and she mewls softly. Her lips part, gooseflesh breaks out over her entire body, and she trembles. I readjust the angle of my fingers and curl them inside her, reaching that sensitive spot inside her that makes her lose herself every time.

She’s beautiful, falling apart like this. Absolutely glorious. Mugs is always so self-contained. Only here, underneath me, does she ever lose herself completely. My eyes are glued to the slack of her jaw, her bulging eyes, and the way her entire body shakes. When it’s over and she’s coming down, I mourn it. There’s so much between us, that only here, like this, are we close to what we used to be.

“Thanks, babe.” Amber’s voice is stronger than it should be. She should be breathless and wanton, but instead, she’s clear-eyed and back to shielding herself with that hard-ass shell she wears to protect herself with. She pulls my stunned face down to hers and licks the corner of my mouth. She kisses me the way she used to—all fire and vulnerability. A quiet, beautiful neediness that has always awakened the pathetic little boy in me who just wants to love and be loved in return. It’s every fucking thing I’ve ever wanted.

CHAPTER 9

Just as I come down from the best orgasm I’ve had in years, my brain finally clears from the lust-ridden fog I’d been in.

I did it again.

I completely lost myself in Wyatt, submitting to him in every way, right down to telling him that I’ve missed him. It doesn’t matter that it’s true. It doesn’t matter that being with him never feels anything but absolutely right. Only two things matter in this world anymore, and their names are Zander and Piper.

Shit. How long have I been gone? I stormed out of Dad’s house with the sole intent of driving out here, giving Wyatt a piece of my mind, and driving right back home. I didn’t plan on, nor did I account for, letting Wyatt have me. He and I are like a disease that spreads so quickly that you almost miss it. A few minutes together and next thing you know, we’re both ignoring the outside world. And as beautiful as that kind of love is¸ it’s also dangerous. It makes you think the person you love is the only thing that is important to you. It makes you sever old ties and forge new ones—ones that your lover approves of. But I’m not sixteen anymore. I have two babies who—no matter how big one of them may be—need me. They need me to keep a clear head.
This
can’t happen again. My heart stabs at the thought of denying myself, but being with Wyatt isn’t worth all that it costs. This almost cost me my boy once. I can’t let that ever happen again.

“Thanks, babe,” I say confidently and wiggle out from underneath him. Wyatt’s always been a fucking genius with his fingers. God, I swear that man was given gifts that no earthly being should possess. I stumble to my feet and rush out of the pleasure palace—a room I genuinely hate on principle alone—and head for the front door. I gave Wyatt a piece of my mind, and then I gave him myself, and now I’ve done more than I came here to do, so it’s time for me to get back to my babies.

“Amber!” Wyatt bellows behind me. He’s gaining on me so quickly that I almost give in to the gut instinct to run. I don’t, though. What kind of old lady runs from her man? I came back here, thinking I would be the vice president’s old lady. I’d be taking cues from Ruby. If Ruby runs from Jim, I can run from Wyatt. But Ruby would never run, so neither will I. I represent Wyatt. I won’t paint him as either a tyrant or a joke by running from him. My pulse quickens even if my feet don’t as he descends upon me.

“Don’t walk away from me, woman!”

I stop just feet from the front door. The room is still crowded, with everyone here, including that bitch Wyatt was touching before I barged in. Even worse—Ruby and Mishy are still here. If I act like a petulant child, I’ll be hearing from both of them later. Mishy may not be acting in a way becoming of a founding member’s granddaughter, but that doesn’t mean she’s forgotten the code. We were raised with it, it was sometimes literally beaten into us.
You don’t disrespect your old man in front of his brothers.

Thanks for that one, Grandpa. I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. It’s so fucking archaic, but it exists for a reason. Still, it doesn’t matter how well I know that. Being barked at and ordered to do something you don’t want to do in front of a group that’s supposed to respect you, but sure aren’t acting like it is no easy task. I hate this life sometimes.

Wyatt walks around me, blocking my body from the front door, and cups my face so I’m forced to look up at him. I gasp and draw back before I can stop myself. That little, tiny show of fear is going to come back to bite me later. Wyatt’s eyes search mine—confusion, wanton need, and even hurt flare in them—as he tries to make sense of the last few minutes. I relax into his touch and do the only thing I can. I beg.