HOPE TRILOGY: Sacred Sinners- Texas Chapter

by Cummings, Bink

  “Shit,” he hisses.

  Yup. That about sums it up.

  “You want anythin’ else?” Ryker asks.

  Eyeing my nearly empty bowl and demolished yogurt, I shake my head. “No. I’m good. This was filling enough.” I pat my belly to reassure him that I am, indeed, stuffed.

  Tugging the bowl from me, he rests his hip against the steel table where I’m seated and finishes off my leftovers of grapes and honeydew, using his fingers. It’s too hot not to watch. Finger eating has its merits. And since I have no manners when he’s around, I know there’s a few half-eaten pieces in there. Though, he doesn’t seem to notice, or care when he plucks the last grape from the bowl and tosses it between his full lips, chewing thoughtfully before the thick muscles in his throat engage when he swallows.

  Is it hot in here, or is it just me? That was … stupidly sexy. If I was wearing panties right now, they might’ve gotten a little damp.

  Combing my fingers through my disheveled hair to clear my thoughts, I relish the companionable silence as Ryker redds up. It’s nice to sit back and not have to worry about dishes. He rinses them in the sink and loads them into the dishwasher that’s already half filled. This is full on mom porn. An attractive man wearing a pair of made-for-him jeans that make his tight ass look spectacular, just how I remember. Add a black and gray Harley tee that hugs every muscle like it wants to have his babies, a leather belt, some shit kickers, and you’ve got one mighty fine mom porn specimen.

  Once his task is complete, Ryker returns to his station in front of the fridge. Arms tucked below pecs, ankles crossed, bald head tilted back to rest against the stainless surface. He appears relaxed. I wonder what he’s thinking about as he stares this way, poker face on point.

  Ryker’s the first to burst the glorious silence bubble. “We need to talk.”

  Uh. I hate those four words. Nothing good ever comes from them. And here I thought we were having a decent time for those few calm, untainted minutes.

  I sigh, drained. “If this is about our kids, forget it. We’re not telling them you’re their dad. It’s not fair to them when you go back home, and they’re left with a mountain of questions. Please don’t make this worse. We’ve gone our separate ways tons of times before. This doesn’t have to be any different.”

  Ryker switches ankles, overlapping them differently. It’s a nervous tell. A small one, but one nonetheless. Whatever he says next, I know isn’t gonna bode well for me. I wipe my damp palms along the top of my sweatpants and prepare for the worst. Whatever that may be.

  “Three times,” he comments.

  Huh?

  “Three times, what?”

  Ryker’s thick biceps flex as he stiffens, nostrils flaring. “It hasn’t been tons of times that we went our separate ways, Kat. It was three. Once when I left the first time. Then the night I knocked you up with our third daughter. And, lastly, after you came to Texas for Thanksgiving. Three. Not tons.”

  Geeze. Someone’s offended by my word choice. Sensitive much? Three is a lot in the scheme of things, since the span of time’s so great.

  “Fine. Three. Not tons,” I concede with a twinge of attitude, to ease the big baby’s mind. “After I go home, it will be four. How many times does someone have to leave your life for significant amounts of time for it to qualify as a ton? Can you give me an exact measurement? Six times? Eight? Twelve? I’d like to know for reference.”

  Shaking his head, not at all charmed by my dry sarcasm, Ryker retorts. “You’re fuckin’ ridiculous, you know that?”

  I shrug innocently. “What? You’re arguing with me over a word. I’m merely trying to understand what classifies as a ton in your mind, so in ten years, when we see each other again, I can look back on today and remember.”

  Lips pursing as I slowly burrow deeper under his skin like an irritating tick, Ryker snorts derisively. “It won’t be ten years. Not when you’re movin’ to Texas this week.”

  Wh—

  What?

  What?!

  No.

  No way.

  My mouth hangs open in shock, eyes bugging for half a second.

  An eerie shiver passes through me.

  Two powerful heartbeats slam my ribcage as my brain echoes his words.

  Moving to Texas.

  What the actual fuck?

  I didn’t agree to that.

  Who said I was moving? I sure as hell didn’t.

  Assembling my jumbled thoughts, I tilt my head up to meet Ryker’s unreadable eyes. How’s he so calm?

  Flattening both palms on the table top, I straighten my back and narrow my gaze. “I dunno where you got that stupid idea, but I’m not moving anywhere. This is my home. The girls have school. I work.”

  “It’s already been decided,” he replies coolly.

  “By who?!” I growl, climbing down off the stool as my body begins to vibrate in rage. I waddle around the table, coming closer to where Ryker stands. Not too close, but close enough that I can easily chuck something at his forehead and not miss.

  “The club.”

  Screw that. They don’t own me. This is not happening. He can kiss my big ass. We’re not going anywhere!

  Throwing my head back, I belt a humorless laugh. “It’s hilarious that you think that you can order me around. That your club has any say in what I do or don’t do. You don’t own me. So I sure as fuck ain’t gonna be movin’ anywhere.” I level my sight on him to be sure my words penetrate that thick skull.

  Ryker appears unaffected. Emotionless. The fuck? “It’s already done, Kat. Gunz took care of the girls’ school transfers this morning. They’re no longer enrolled here. They start school in three days. And your resignation letter was faxed to your employer this morning. The water, electric, and gas have been scheduled to be shut off at your house tomorrow. The place will be winterized by one of the brothers. Mail will be forwarded to a secure post office box in Red Fort. We’ve taken care of the essentials. All you gotta do is go with me to the house today to pack clothes and other stuff for you and the girls. We leave tonight, under the cover of darkness. And, for their safety, the girls have already left with Pops. They’ll meet you there in a few days. In the meantime, you need to get used to the idea of movin’ south. After what happened, it’s the safest. Keepin’ you close is the only way to keep you from harm. And I refuse to take any more chances of them kidnappin’ you again, or worse, killin’ ya, when we’ve got a war brewin’ with another club. They know you’re mine, and that you’re Ghost’s daughter. If you stay, it would only be a matter of time before they tried to hurt you again. I refuse to let that fuckin’ happen. Not when I can protect you myself.”

  Oh. My. God.

  This … this can’t be happening.

  Pinching my arm to check if I’m dreaming, I pray this isn’t my worst nightmare come to life.

  No such luck. My skin throbs beneath the irritation. Blinking slowly, I try not to lose it, as my world as I know it is literally hurled off its axis and pissed on.

  Did I hear him correctly? They already took my daughters away from me? They’ve left? Why would they do that? Why couldn’t I say goodbye? Who does that? What’s wrong with these people?

  My stomach churns, acid boils up my throat, and I swallow it down.

  Dropping my hands to my sides, I ball and unball my fist as my brain chews over the heaviness of this situation. First, I’m kidnapped. Hurt. Sewn up. Then I wake up to my ex feeding my kids. All of which I think I’ve taken in stride. Done the mature thing for the most part, and not broke down or gone Sarah Conner on their behinds. Now I have to digest this? Something, I, once again, didn’t agree to. And let me tell ya, this isn’t going down smooth. Each word is like a shard of glass ripping my esophagus, slicing its way through my innards, forgoing my stomach altogether. It hurts like hell, and my pulse is thundering fiercely to keep me alive. I begin to sweat as a fresh batch of adrenaline is shot into my veins.

  Across the way, Ryker watches me with an air of co
ncern. He opens his mouth to say something when he catches me watching him watch me. Only, I shake my head, and he heeds my silent order to shut it. Smart choice. The first one he’s had all day.

  Exhaling a laden breath, I pull up my big girl panties and prepare to unleash the inner beast. You can’t do this to me and expect to walk out of here unscathed. Over my dead body.

  “Let me get this straight.” I clear my throat to enunciate crisply. “Your club, in which I have no association with, aside from you and my father being members, have decided my fate without my consent or consideration? As well as the fate of my two daughters who I’ve raised on my own since they were still in diapers. Am I hearing this correctly, Ryker?”

  He opens his mouth as if he’s prepared to argue, then closes it again, frowns, and nods guiltily.

  Good. A nod is way better than words right now. At least he has the decency to appear a tad bit uncomfortable.

  Bouncing on the balls of my feet, so jazzed up I could pound flesh, I choose my next words carefully. “You allowed them to take my girls away without me saying goodbye, Ryker. Monsters are the only things who steal children from their mothers without a proper goodbye. Without my say in the matter! Who the hell do you think you are?! You act like you’ve got all this planned out. What? You gonna hide me away, Ryker, like a good little woman and force me to live in the cabin you built in the woods? Gonna make me play happy sister-wife with that horrible person you said I Do to? The one who’s a rat? The one who’s a liar? Well, guess what? Fuck you, bucko. I’m not doin’ a goddamn thing you say! You force me against my will, and I’ll run away to a place you and your club could never find me. And you can bet your sweet ass that I’ll be kidnapping my daughters back and bringing them along for the ride. You did that to me … to us. You fucked us over. I was living a normal life. I even had a fucking date with a nice guy the day I was kidnapped. Now, look at me.” I point to my face.

  “Who’s gonna wanna date this ugly mug now? Huh? A scarred up bitch with daddy issues, abandonment problems, ex-boyfriend baggage, and three daughters. Oh, and I’m jobless. Great. Fantastic.” My index finger swishes through the air like I’m drawing an invisible check mark. “Checkmate. You win. You got what you wanted. You got your cake, and get to eat the motherfucker, too. I hope it tastes good going down. Better savor that flavor, baby, ‘cause I’m comin’ for you.” I point a stern finger in his direction, making direct eye contact. “You best sleep with one eye open, ‘cause this club war will be the least of your worries when I’m done with you. Hell. You’ll wish they got to you first.” Exhaling profoundly, my shoulders sag as the last of my verbal rage perfumes the air.

  “You done?” The corner of Ryker’s lip hooks into a half smile as he reaches down to adjust…

  You’ve got to be kidding me!

  “Jesus Christ! You have a boner,” I state accusingly.

  Ryker shrugs his left shoulder unapologetically. “So? You’re sexy as sin when you get all riled up.”

  Scrubbing both palms down my face, I release an exasperated groan. Only he would turn this conversation into something it’s not—sexual.

  When I drop my hands to my sides, Ryker readjusts that damn salami down the inside of his pant leg as if goading me.

  “Will you stop touching that thing?” I grumble, rubbing my Buddha belly to keep from enacting violence.

  Fuck.

  “Why can’t I stop touchin’ it? Are you blind as well as sassy? Do you really expect me to remain unaffected when you talk all fierce and shit? Yeah right. Mama Bear suits you. Especially when your eyes go all intense and your chest rises and falls fast, bouncing those luscious tits. I’m a man with two eyes and a lonely cock. And when it looks at the only thing it wants, it’s gonna perk right up, regardless of your death threats… Which, by the way, we are moving into the cabin I built for you. No, it won’t be with Vanessa. Yes, it was shitty of me to okay Pops takin’ the girls without you sayin’ see ya later. However, you and I both know that you would’ve clung to them, cried, and become way more possessive if they were torn from you with you knowin’. That’s why I did it quick. Like rippin’ off a band-aid. They’re my kids, too. I wouldn’t put them in a truck with someone I don’t trust. You get that, right?”

  Ah!! Why does he have to be so damn frustrating? He shouldn’t be making a lick of sense. Yet, he does. Maybe a little. Shhhh … don’t tell him I said that.

  Clinging to what little bit of sanity I have left, I counter, “My tits are not for your enjoyment.” It’s a crappy comeback, I know, but my sarcasm well is nearly dried up.

  Uncrossing his ankles and pushing off the fridge, Ryker stalks toward me with a purpose. My heart rate jacks up, palms sweating. What’s he doing?

  Stopping toe-to-toe with me, or, in this case, my big belly touching his crotch area, he takes a slight step backward, disengaging our brief groin-belly hug and bends forward like he’s about to whisper something in my ear. Except, he… Down the front of my sweats his naughty hand goes, and wham bam, between my legs it delves. Shocked, I oust a startled gasp a second before two deft fingers glide between my wet folds, over my throbbing clit, and straight into home base with surprising ease. Guess it helps that I’m soaked. I shouldn’t be, but I am. It’s humiliating as hell. I’m mortified.

  Turning my face so Ryker can’t see the bright singe of embarrassment, I wrap both hands around his thick forearm and try to yank him out of my pants. I don’t want him touching me there. What in the world is he thinking?!

  The tug is futile when he presses his nose gently against my neck and inhales audibly. Nudging my bare feet apart with his boot, he opens my stance. I dumbly let him. What am I doing? I try to fight back and reclose my legs, only to be stopped when his knee finds its home smack dab in the center of them. As two of Ryker’s fingers hook inside my pussy, lightly caressing my g-spot, his other secures my waist, holding us together. Body heat seeping into body heat. Satisfied with our arrangement, he mumbles something under his breath before pressing a tender kiss below my ear.

  “Re—remove your hand,” I demand weakly.

  Instead of complying like a gentleman, Ryker pumps those two digits in and out of my sex, coaxing the walls of my pussy to clench around the delicious invaders. I bite back a lustful moan as my magical spot’s massaged on rhythmic repeat, never stopping nor increasing speed. Clutching his shoulders and squeezing my eyes shut, I forget where I am, and relish the blazing pleasure short-circuiting my weak brain.

  Oh, god.

  Ryker plants a much longer, wetter, sexier kiss to my neck where his scruff abrades my flesh, sending a wave of shivers to my toes. “Come on, my little Tiger. Let yourself go. Get rid of that fuckin’ hatred. Let me take it. Give it to me, sweetheart… That’s it. Milk my fuckin’ fingers,” he whispers hotly.

  Groaning softly, I heed his words and willingly fall victim to the assault. My anger scatters, draining from my limbs as his rich, masculine scent intoxicates me, getting me drunk on lust. It’s been far too long since I’ve been touched like this. Nothing compares to the warm glide of someone else’s fingers pleasuring you. My shower head could never compare. Nothing could.

  Logically, I know I should hit Ryker. Push him away. But this feels amazing, and I deserve some amazing. Something to make me forget. To make me feel good. Real good. Something… Fuck… Yes... In and out he moves with practiced precision, stimulating my g-spot with each pass, forcing my toes to curl.

  Afraid my knees may buckle any second, I drop my forehead to his shoulder. More kisses are pressed. Soft moans fall from my lips as I forget my name, my age, my everything. White-hot pressure builds. The sloppy sound of my pussy being fingered serenades us alongside our heavy inhalations. My pulse thrums through my clit, into my core where Ryker drives me Fast and Furious style to the cliff’s edge.

  “Oh. Ohhh,” I gasp.

  “That’s it,” he encourages on a deep erotic groan, his fingers gripping my hip harder.

  “I … I hate you. Y
ou … oh…” Another intense swipe against my spot and my knees give out completely.

  One second, my stomach’s leaping up my throat as I stumble into my ex. The next, Ryker cradles me in his arms and sets my bottom on the ledge of the cool metal table where I ate. Without permission, he hooks his fingers into the top of my pants and shucks the oversized sweats down my legs before tossing them in a heap on the floor, leaving me instantly exposed. Instinctively, I cover my lady bits with both hands to hide the hideousness that I can no longer view since my belly has grown too large. Shaving blind with only my fingers to guide me is tricky. And let’s just say I haven’t taken a razor to that special part of my anatomy in a few weeks. The blonde bush has begun to regrow.

  “Stop that,” Ryker admonishes with the firm shake of his head.

  Wrapping his big mitts around my wrists, he eases them off my lady parts where he massages the underside with the pad of his thumb. The brisk air touches my wet folds. Goosebumps break out from shoulders to ankles. I suppress a shiver and jerk my hands out of his grasp to recover my chilly bits.

  “Give me my pants back.”

  With the dip of my forehead, I gesture toward my bottoms lying next to Ryker’s big booted feet on the floor.

  “No.”

  He kicks them further away, and I glare, eyebrows pinched, frowning severely. The expression makes my injuries ache, knocking my arousal down a notch. Thankfully.

  “Yes. It’s cold up here.” The goosebumps covering my ass are so pissed they hurt. “We shouldn’t be doing this.” It’s about time my conscience catches the hell up.

  Ignoring me, Ryker tugs his shirt over his head, revealing all those deliciously taut muscles and nipple piercings before he flips open his belt, undoes his jeans button, and rips the teeth of his zipper down.

  “Wait. What are you doing? Stop it. Don’t—” I plead fruitlessly as Ryker hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his black Calvin Klein’s and shoves them, along with his pants, to his knees, exposing the tops of his corded thighs and a weeping erection that bobs.

  Blinking owlishly, I quit gawking at the fine male specimen I vividly remember, and drop my gaze lower. There’s a newer tattoo covering the top of his left thigh. I stare at the colorful image for half a second before I realize there’s my name, Katrina, scrolled across a banner that wraps around the base of a realistic Siberian tiger face, complete with icy blue eyes. It’s extraordinarily lifelike.