HOPE TRILOGY: Sacred Sinners- Texas Chapter

by Cummings, Bink

  Frustrated by everything, I grip my hair and pull until the follicles ache. The sting centers me enough to clarify my issues. “He did fake his own death because he screwed over another club. Or did you forget that? The same club that kidnapped me, gave me this scar.” Driving my point home, I draw a finger down the raised line that’ll be there ‘til the day I die. “Then the same club tried to kill my family. And would’ve succeeded if Rosie hadn’t turned your woods into a motherfucking bloodbath, while you were off gallivanting with your wife, almost dying, and scaring the hell outta me. If that’s what I am to expect being associated with the Sacred Sinners, I think I’d rather die alone on a beach somewhere wondering what could’ve been. That sounds better than living a life of crime. Roxie and Scarlett deserve a normal life. Not safe rooms and bullet holes. They deserve real stability. Not the illusion of it.” There, I’ve said my peace. A mountain of tension lifts off my shoulders as I readjust on the chair.

  Folding my hands in my lap, underneath my belly, I await his reply.

  “Are you sayin’ I need to leave the club for us to be together? ‘Cause if you are, fine. I’ll call Pops right now and set that in motion.”

  What?!

  “You…You’d do that?” My mouth drops open, hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Yup, I’m in shock.

  “For you and my girls? Fuck yeah. Do I want to? No. But if that’s what you want. I’ll do it. I’m in this. No turnin’ back. No half-assed bullshit. We’re gonna make this work one way or another.”

  I…Wow…Umm… Yeah…I’m not sure what to say. He’s never given that option before. As flattered as I am, I could never live with myself if I took him away from his family. That’s never been my intention.

  Staring blankly at the front door trying to process, I articulate a half-assed reply. “I… I can’t ask you to give it up for me.”

  “Then don’t. Trust me, for once, even if I don’t deserve it.” Ryker’s sincerity wraps around me like a warm fuzzy blanket, instilling a sense of calm—rightness.

  Slowly sweeping my gaze to him, Ryker’s intense, determined eyes lock on mine, holding them hostage. Throat gone dry, hands clammy, I swallow hard, and forge ahead to address what needs to be addressed regardless of the fact that I’ve been thrown for a loop. “You know we can’t live a life of bloodshed. It’s not fair to us.”

  He scrubs his stalwart chin. “I’m not gonna lie and say club life is all rainbows and unicorns, babe. But it ain’t like you think it is. Bloodbaths never happen on our turf. Not like that. This would be a first. We protect our own. Over time, I think you could grow to love the life. I’m not foolish to think it’ll happen overnight. But I do think, once you truly lived it, you wouldn’t hate it so much. Rox and Scarlett will live a semi-normal life surrounded by a huge family of bikers. I’ll make damn sure of it. And so will Kade, Pops, and your dad. The worst of the worst is behind us.”

  Is it truly that easy? I don’t think so. He seems to have a reasonable comeback for almost everything I’ve thrown at him. As if he’s thought this tête-à-tête out in great detail.

  “How can you be sure about any of this? You can’t predict tomorrow any more than I can. What does living here look like for the girls and me?” I ask.

  “Life here looks like it does now, post-mayhem. The girls go to school. We live together in this cabin day in day out. And if I have any say in the matter, your fine ass will sleep in the same bed as me. We both know where this relationship is headed. Can we predict what’ll happen six months from now? No. None of us can. But that doesn’t change anything. We’ve got kids together, Kat. We’re attracted to one another. We love each other. You’re here with me. There’s nothin’ holdin’ us back, but you. Am I gonna lie and say I’ve got this all figured out? Nope. ‘Cause I don’t. Am I gonna piss you off sometimes, and do stupid shit? Fuck yes, I am. That’s a guaran-damn-tee. No relationship is perfect. Not that I have much experience to go by. All I know is that I feel like I’ve loved you my whole life, and been waitin’ for the day to get it right. This is it. I can feel it in my bones. Come on, babe, just try it out. Take a leap of faith. We don’t gotta start nothin’ serious if you don’t want to.”

  Tipping my head to the side, shaking it, I grin at the adorable yet insanely rational fool. “I’m pretty sure sleeping in the same bed constitutes as serious, Ryker.”

  He shrugs. “Eh. Tomato, tomhato. I’ve seen all your bits. You’ve seen mine. It’d be a cryin’ shame if we didn’t keep showin’ ‘em to each other.” Ryker waggles his brows and offers me a lopsided smirk. He’s so handsome. So … mine, if I want him.

  Giggling a little, I relish the adolescent rush of excitement that flows through my veins. Are we doing this? I think we might be.

  “You’re nuts, and I’m even nutser for considering this a plan,” I jest.

  Ryker lifts his shirt, exposing the bumps and ridges of all that hot maleness. My girly parts weep with joy at the sight. Rubbing the flat of his palm up and down those abs like a washboard, he winks. “Come on, babe. You sayin’ you don’t wanna keep seein’ all my bits? ‘Cause I damn well know I wanna see all yours.”

  I flush, I don’t mean to, but I do nonetheless. Cheeks burning, I scrub them to hide the evidence which is pointless, because he’s too busy ogling me like he wants to see me naked here and now. The heat intensifies when he licks those sexy lips and adjusts the bulge in his pants.

  Ugh! Not again.

  There’s a knock at the back door.

  Hallelujah!

  Springing to my feet, I dash with pregnancy grace to the door to get away from him, before I make some very bad decisions that’d make my vagina pleased as punch. Now’s not the time for that. Not when we just turned a significant corner in our relationship, whatever that may be.

  Unlocking the back door, I yank it open with gusto without thinking twice. Not smart on my part, but I’m too happy for the interruption to care. Unless there’s an ax murderer on the other side, then maybe I should’ve used my brains.

  Thankfully, there’s not. It’s worse. Instead, here stands a stunning woman. One I’ve never seen before, wearing a pair of cut off jean shorts that show off her ass cheeks, and a red halter top with tits up to her throat. Her long, flowy, platinum blonde hair is dyed, according to her dark brown, perfectly arched eyebrows. Pink glittery gloss coats her pouty lips.

  I must stand here gawking far too long, because she shoves a covered dish of some sort in my direction. On instinct, I take it, hugging it to my big belly. “Hi, is Ryker home? I heard he was released today, and I wanted to drop by.”

  Right. Drop by. Wearing false eyelashes and enough makeup to be on a photoshoot.

  My stomach plummets to my feet.

  This is the type of woman Ryker’s used to being around. A woman like Vanessa. Sexy, available, and ready to drop to her knees and suck his dick. He is the son of the club president and a biker himself, I should’ve seen this coming from a mile away.

  Not saying a word, I sidestep and sweep my hand to welcome her indoors. This is his house so I can’t turn her away. And his visitor brought… I glance down at the blue casserole dish full of fragrant pasta in hand as she saunters into the cabin, wearing a pair of shiny combat boots, her tiny butt cheeks jiggling with the exaggerated sway of her hips.

  “Thanks,” she drawls over her shoulder, dismissing me.

  Rude much?

  Hunching my shoulders, feeling sick all of a sudden, I shut the door and waddle into the kitchen with the food. Setting it on the counter, I try to ignore the beautiful woman who’s seated next to Ryker on the couch, as my heart spasms erratically in my chest. He sat up at some point, and they’re talking. I can’t make out what they’re saying, nor do I want to. A pang of jealousy coils around my aching insides, stealing my breath away. I shove the useless feeling aside. He’s a grown man and will do what he wants. This is none of my business when we’re not even an official item yet. Aren’t we taking it slow? God, this is all so confus
ing.

  Leaving the food lie, and rot for all I care, I quietly exit the kitchen to go check on Walker, to give me something to do. There’s a baby monitor in the living room. If he’d have woken up, I would’ve heard. As predicted he’s asleep when I enter the bedroom. Shutting off the monitor, I slip underneath the bed covers to rest my weary head on the soft pillow I bunch under my cheek. Is this what is to be expected when you’re with someone in the club? Women stopping by unannounced wearing next to nothing, ready to throw themselves at his feet now that his wife’s dead? Most of these chicks have no idea I exist. Not that that would stop them if they did. We’re not married. He hasn’t claimed me publicly. Isn’t that what bikers do? Vanessa wore a vest saying she was his property.

  Blah.

  I’m tired of thinking.

  Curling into a ball on my side, blankets tucked underneath my chin, my eyes slide closed, suddenly exhausted.

  One second, I feel like we’re on the right path and all it takes is one young, footloose, and fancy-free woman in the cabin to plant seeds of doubt. Living here is going to be harder than I thought. For now, I’m gonna try to nap. My problems will still be here later. Hopefully, he won’t invite her to dinner.

  Seven

  Kat

  Loading the dishwasher, relishing the peace and quiet, I reflect on the past two days since Ryker’s been home. It’s been, dare I say… enlightening. In one aspect it’s been fantastic, since he and the girls have basically been inseparable from the moment they walk through the door after school until bedtime. He helps them with their homework if needed. They curl on the couch together watching whatever shows the girls want to see. Roxie takes one side of him as Scarlett takes the other. It pulls at my friggin heartstrings to see them cozied up in their PJs with their dad. Not wanting to intrude, I keep my distance so they can enjoy him. Instead, I stay busy cooking dinner and making hot cocoa like any mother would. Sure, we eat supper together. But I can’t help but feel kinda slighted for not being invited into their three-person bubble. I know, I know, I’m being irrational. Jealousy isn’t becoming of a mother. Not when I haven’t acted as though I want to take part in their bonding time. Half of me wants to be included, while the other gets a deep sense of pleasure observing her family connect from a short distance.

  Each night, Ryker and I tuck them in. Then I escape to the confines of the bedroom with Walker and my Kindle, while he watches grown-up shows in the living room, giving me space. Space that has grown exponentially since the blonde first showed up. That’s the negative part I was hinting to—a revolving door of women since he got home. If it’s not a club brother dropping by to check in. It’s scantily clad club chicks who treat me like a maid and steal all of Ryker’s alone time. We’ve literally had zero time to ourselves since the first lady showed up.

  Yesterday, four women and two brothers came by, and that was before the girls got home. Dad, Kade, and Bear came after, so they could see everyone, and eat dinner with us. The strange thing is, it’s as if the women planned it this way. Because they’re never here at the same time. However, they all bring food, wear skin tight clothes over their impressive bodies, and drool all over my roommate as if he’s the best thing since sliced bread. Listen, don’t get me wrong, I realize he’s a catch in certain circles. And I know that if you took a poll, 90% of women would want to bone him. Ryker’s hotness transcends age, race, and culture. There’s no denying that. What has gotten to me is how welcoming he’s been with everyone. Each person gets his undivided attention. Including the chicks who make a point to touch him in ways that aren’t suitable for guys who claim they want to be in a relationship. I’m trying hard not to get angry, or be any more jealous than normal, by chalking it up to his near-death experience giving him a different perspective on life. It’s true that it alters a person. It did me. In the last week, I’ve realized that the past can’t be changed and the future is always uncertain. So you have to embrace what you have, and live each day like it’ll be your last. I think most people appreciate that philosophy, yet only a small portion choose to let it sink in.

  Which brings me to today. An hour ago another female left. Thankfully, this one had the decency to be polite to me and didn’t paw Ryker like a cat scratching post. She too brought food. Honestly, after the first lady’s offerings, I stopped looking at what they cooked. Our refrigerator is officially overrun with colorful dishes. The food inside of them is going to eventually go to waste unless someone takes it to the clubhouse. Because I refuse to eat please-pick-me-as-your-next-wife food. Can you blame me? Would you eat I-wanna-have-your-babies casserole from some woman throwing herself at the guy you’ve been in love with for years? I’m not, on principle alone. Plus, the outlandish thought of them possibly finger banging themselves prior to cooking his meal, then mixing their essence in to add a fishy aftertaste, is enough to make me gag. That’s why the only person in this house who’s ingested any of the food is Ryker himself. I won’t even let the girls indulge for the same reasons. We’re on club chick strike.

  Rinsing the last cereal bowl in the sink and placing it in the top rack of the dishwasher, I add a detergent pod and close the door. Pushing the start button, I smile, feeling accomplished now that the dishes are out of the way. Grabbing my Kindle off the counter, I decide it’s time to get some reading in before Ryker climbs out of the shower and little man wakes up. When the last woman was here, I fed, burped, and changed Walker. Food seems to affect him like it does other babies—makes him sleepy. Before I had a chance to change the cute onesie my dad brought him, he was out. Someday soon, I need to go shopping for some more clothes for him or order them online. Because all the outfits we’ve got are compliments of my dad. As is the bassinet, the baby bottles, monitor, blankets, and other odds and ends. He’s been a lifesaver.

  Snatching the comfy blanket off the back of my chair, I shake it out in front of me, ready to dive headfirst into my latest binge series by Sara Ney, hilariously titled How to Date a Douchebag. They were a rec I got from a readers group I follow on Goodreads. And I have to say the first two books of the series have lived up to their hype. Part of me hoped I’d get some tips on how to deal with the current douchebag I live with. So far, I haven’t learned as much as I hoped, but the entertainment value is still gut-busting. Who knew wrestlers could be that yummy? Trust me on this, Google college wrestlers and I’m certain your jaw will hit the floor. You can see everything, if you catch my pervy drift.

  Resting my e-reader on the chair arm, I brace my hand on the other for support as I cradle my belly for the pregnant lady descent. Falling into the chair is a no-no this far into my pregnancy, I don’t want to pee myself. It’s happened before. Not the full enchilada. A tiny tinkle, but it’s still embarrassing as hell when you’re a young-ish woman who shouldn’t have incontinence issues.

  My butt hits the soft cushion with a creak.

  There’s a rap, rap, rap at the back door.

  Are you kidding me right now?

  Sonofabitch.

  Groaning my displeasure, I readjust my glasses on my nose, and heft my round body out of the chair. Taking my sweet ass time, I waddle to the rear door, annoyed by the impatient jerk on the other side as they continue to knock for a third time.

  Irritated beyond rationale, I unlock the deadbolt with an aggressive snick and yank it open. “What?” I bark, faced with yet another trashy dressed woman. That’s it. I’ve had it up to here with these chicks coming into my house when I’m trying to live a normal flippin’ life. I don’t care if they’re worried about Ryker. They could call first, or something. Anything besides dropping by unannounced, thereby disrupting our lives. Not only is it rude. It’s disrespectful.

  Taking a wobbly step back on her hooker heels to get some distance from me, at least the curvy brunette has the decency to look nervous. Poised on one of her upturned palms, as expected, is food. Except… Goddammit, it’s a pecan pie—my weakness.

  Snatching the pie out of her hand, not caring one bit how rude
I’m acting, I growl, “Ryker’s indisposed. Come back later. Thanks for the pie.”

  Before the lady has a chance to speak I slam the door in her face, pivot on my heel, stomp into the kitchen, open the garbage can and throw the damn pie away. It kills me to see all that scrumptiousness go to waste, but I’m not eating vagina pie. And if I can’t eat the vagina pecan pie, nobody can.

  Fueled by days of repressed anger, fists clenched at my sides, I exit the kitchen to head to the bedroom where Ryker is. He needs to know another one of his fan club was here.

  Not wanting to wake Walker, I quietly approach the closed bathroom door. Just as I’m about to reach for the knob, it opens, revealing a half-naked beefcake. With a towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist, knee perched on the scooter, Ryker pauses at the sight of me, expression transforming from relaxed to concerned in an instant.

  “What’s wrong, babe?” He wheels a step closer, reaching out to touch my face.

  Dodging his advance, I scoot backward and shake a fist at him. “Another one of your… your… women were here to bring you food. This one brought a… a… motherfucking pecan pie!” I rage, forgetting about the sleeping baby.

  Ryker holds up both hands in surrender as droplets of water trickle down the valleys of his muscled form. “Whoa, babe. Calm down. Did she say somethin’ mean to you?”

  “No!”

  The dickhead has the audacity to tip his head to the side and smirk as if I’m the cutest thing he’s ever seen, not someone who’s about to club him to death. Why I’m so angry, I dunno. All I know is that I am. Each muscle in my body’s strung tighter than a guitar string, ready to snap. Air’s pistoning from my lungs at an alarming rate. My leg twitches with pent-up aggression.

  Taking a substantial step away from Ryker, I gain enough distance that I can’t leap and punch him in the face. Because that’s what I wanna do right this second. Clenching and unclenching the fists at my sides, I inhale a deep breath to calm myself, and nothing freaking happens. This isn’t like me. Christ, what if I do hurt him?