Hopeful Whispers

by Bink Cummings

  “Scarlett, don’t you dare talk to me that way unless you want mama to bring the hammer down,” Kat scolds, her words easy enough to hear.

  Squeaking under her breath, Roxie makes a fist and slams it on her open palm—bringin’ the hammer down. “She’s in trrrouble.”

  Two sets of footsteps thud against the hardwood. A fresh-faced Kat emerges first with a sullen Scarlett on her heels. My love’s rockin’ that red lipstick. It complements her AC/DC hoodie, messy top bun, librarian glasses, leggings, and black glittery Converse perfectly. Some guys want their ladies all dolled up to be proud of the pussy on their arm. Not me. I’m proud as a motherfuckin’ peacock with a snot-nosed, sick as hell, pukin’ her guts out, Kat. Not that I want her sick. You get what I mean. I don’t need her tits hangin’ out for me to know she’s bangin’. I’ve seen her naked hundreds of times, pregnant and not. Her body’s a cock-pumpin’ masterpiece in any form.

  “Are ya ready to head?” I ask, takin’ Roxie’s plate and settin’ it in the sink to rinse later.

  She hops off her stool to join her mom and sister. “I’m ready.” Rox’s hand smooths down the sides of her hoodie. Scarlett mopes, handin’ her sis a black starred backpack.

  Kat slings her purse over her shoulder. “Yep. Let’s go.”

  Leadin’ the way, we make it out to the Suburban in no time. Tuggin’ the spare keys from my front pocket, I unlock the truck and escort Kat to her door, opening it like a tattooed knight in shining leather. She flashes me this strange expression I can’t decipher before climbin’ inside. Shuttin’ her door, I round the hood and get in. Checkin’ my rearview mirror, I make sure the girls are buckled, then reverse outta the gravel drive, kickin’ up rocks.

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re sittin’ in the drop off line for school. “Don’t sweat it, girls. I went to school here. It’s a nice place.” My stab at enthusiasm falls on deaf ears as Rox and Scarlett stare out the window, watching the other kids. When it’s our turn for them to get out, Kat waves them forth. They quietly peck their mom’s cheek and exit the vehicle.

  “Have a good day!” I two-finger wave. Roxie returns the sentiment with a small smile. Scarlett ignores me. I try not to let that sting. It’s impossible. Rejection sucks.

  “Love you!” Katrina blubbers, removing her glasses to wipe her eyes.

  God. I hate it when she gets weepy. It makes me wanna do relationshipy stuff. Huggin’, kissin’, cuddlin’— stuff she’d never let me get away with. The nightmare affection was a fluke. I’m smart enough to understand that won’t be happenin’ again.

  “Love you, too, Mommy.”

  Scarlett shuts the door and joins her sister on the sidewalk. I wait a few seconds, watchin’ them walk away until the asshole behind me honks his horn. Who the fuck does this douche canoe think he is? I grab the door handle, ready to pound his face in for disruptin’ this priceless moment I’ve been waitin’ a lifetime to experience. Kat’s hand on my arm is the only thing that stops me from makin’ a bloody scene. Instead, I roll down my window, stick my arm out, and flip him the bird. He can suck my testicles. Magically, there’s no more honkin’. Satisfied the prick doesn’t retaliate for his own good, I release the break and coast outta the parking lot.

  “You were gonna beat the shit outta that guy in the car behind us,” Kat remarks once we’re on the road home. I can’t tell if she’s impressed or disgusted. With her, I’m never sure.

  “I have wanted to see my kids off to school since they were born. He tried to ruin that. He’s lucky you were here. Or I woulda made him piss his pretty boy pants.”

  Turning right, I slow to an easy forty to bide time. When I get back to the cabin, I gotta jump on the bike and ride to Vanessa’s to check in before goin’ to the clubhouse. We’ve got important club business to attend to. If it were up to me, I’d ditch my responsibilities and cook Kat a big breakfast. Not pancakes, ‘cause, apparently, she’s written those off. Then we’d talk. Not chitchat. Not argue. Really catch up. Somethin’ we haven’t done yet. Unfortunately, duty calls.

  Proppin’ her feet on the dash, Kat stares vacantly out the window, lost in thought. I let her be. Droppin’ the girls off at a new school wasn’t easy on her, so I’m not about to make things worse. Takin’ the scenic route home, I give her time to decompress before returning.

  Killin’ the engine behind the cabin, and pocketing the keys, I grip the steering wheel, preparin’ myself to say goodbye. I don’t understand why it’s always hard to leave her. It shouldn’t be this time. Not when I know she’s gonna be here when I get back tonight. And the next time. And the time after that. Even though my mind gets it, my heart’s a tricky fucker. It’s achin’ so fiercely I might as well carve it outta my chest and give it to her. The damn thing hadn’t started beatin’ again until she came ‘round. It’d been black as black, for years. This emotional, feelin’, achin’ shit is no joke. Not sure I like it. The guilt was almost easier to bear. At least that could be assuaged with a bottle of Jack.

  Kat pushes open her door but doesn’t move to get out. “I know this is weird being around me. It’s not easy to see you either. But I understand where your duty lies. You’re welcome to see the girls whenever. I just want you to know that I don’t expect anything. I just wanna survive whatever this is and go home. I’m not gonna be a thorn in your side. That’s not what I want. So don’t worry about me turning into some jealous ex when you gotta go spend time with your wife. I’m not gonna ask questions. Your life. Your business. All I ask is that you respect me enough not to play games. We’ve traveled down that road before. The last thing I want is to get dragged down by it again. Once was enough.”

  With that, she climbs down and shuts the door before my brain gets a chance to process.

  Heaving a sigh, I glide a palm over the top of my bald head. It’s stubbly. About time I shave.

  Playin’ games? Does she think that’s what I’m all about? I’m not playin’ anything. My life’s a complicated mess. I’m married to one person, and in love with another. Both of which are carryin’ my kids. Add the club war brewin’ and I’ve got myself the biggest cluster fuck of cluster fucks to navigate without endin’ up dead or in jail.

  Screw it. I don’t have time to dissect Kat’s words. I’ve got shit to do. Starting with visiting Vanessa, who’s been blowin’ up my phone about her baby doctor’s appointment since six this mornin’.

  Fuck my life.

  Ryker

  Straddlin’ my bike outside Vanessa’s white single-wide, I fire off a text to let Big know where I’m at. Ever since we got back to Texas, I’ve been runnin’ recon. Nobody but Pops, Ghost, Rosie, and Big are in on it. It’s hush hush. The less people who know, the better. That’s the best way to keep my family safe.

  Big: Make sure she doesn't find out you’re on to her.

  In the last forty-eight hours, Gunz’s brilliant ass has dug up some rather titillating evidence. For instance, there’s been a deposit of five g’s in Vanessa’s savings account. The only account I can’t touch. Although, I have access to her checking since I’ve been supportin’ her from the moment I found out she was pregnant. She doesn’t work, so the only way she gets spendin’ cash is from me. That extra dough was wired from a bank in New York. Not the city. Upstate, to be exact. Thirty miles south of a pansy-ass, woman stealin’s clubhouse. They don’t think we know about that remote locale. But we do. From what Gunz has deducted, Vanessa wasn’t kidnapped like Kat. She merely played along for the theatrics. Clearly, they weren’t bankin’ on us findin’ them before the meet. Now that their plan for retribution, or whatever the fuck they’ve got a hard-on for, has been foiled, they’ve further recruited Vanessa to impart vital information such as times, dates, names, and locations. And because I’m the closest to her, it’s now my job to pretend I don’t know diddly from squat, keep up the rouse by spendin’ time with her, and relay whatever I can back to Pops and Big.

  Me: She’s been trying to get me back to her trailer since last night. Trust me
. She’s too self-absorbed to realize much of anything.

  Big: If you’re not giving her the D and you’re not sleepin over, she might suspect.

  Me: Haha. You got jokes. I already told you I’m not fuckin her. Fuckin a rat to possibly help the end game is what got me in this mess to begin with. It’s hard enough being here every damn day. Night is nonnegotiable. I gotta sleep under the same roof with my kids and old lady.

  Big: Fine. Fine. But, ya know, pussy might do ya some good since your old lady ain’t givin it up.

  Me: I don’t even wanna know how you know that.

  Big: Smart kid. Send me what ya get when ya can. We need to put this to bed. I’m already sick of dealin with these dumb fucks.

  Me: Will do.

  Shovin’ my phone into my back pocket, I dismount my Harley and take Vanessa’s steps two at a time. Liftin’ my fist to knock, I prepare myself for the next six hours spent in Hell. Tonight can’t come soon enough. I need to watch my babies sleep peacefully before makin’ them breakfast again in the mornin’. The prospect of that is the only thing that’s gonna get me through the rest of today.

  Vanessa flings her door open. Smiling seductively, wearin’ nothin’ but a virginal see-through teddy, she twirls a lock of her hair around her finger. Vanessa’s dark areolas and stiff nipples form a sexy contrast to the sheer white. Lace drapes over the tiny bump that’s carryin’ my kid. The juncture between her thighs is bare. There’s no doubt she wants to fuck, and damn it all to hell, if I don’t wanna play just the tip—except not with her. Sadly, my pecker didn’t get the memo ‘cause he’s about to Mike Tyson his way outta my jeans. Hey, don’t you judge me. I’m a virile man. Not a eunuch. Tits are tits. Pussy is pussy. My dick appreciates it in all forms. Doesn’t mean he’s allowed to act on it, though, so don’t get your panties in a twist. Perhaps you should let Vanessa borrow a pair. Looks like she doesn’t own any.

  Disregarding my erection and the half-naked chick in front of me, I push past her into the trailer. “Mornin,” I grunt, droppin’ onto her sofa and clickin’ on the TV to watch anythin’ that’ll distract me from her wantin’ to bone.

  If only it were that easy.

  Not happy with my brush off, Vanessa steals the remote out of my hand, turns off the TV, throws the clicker on the nearby chair, and straddles my lap, settin’ that silky mound right on top of my hungry snake. I gotta hand it to her—the bitch got game.

  “Can I help you?” I act bored, crossin’ my arms over my chest to keep my hands from doin’ anything stupid that’ll have me pukin’ my guts out later when the guilt eats a hole through my stomach.

  Vanessa threads her hands behind my neck and presses her tits to my mouth. Damn. She smells good—like honey and wet pussy. “I wanna screw my husband,” she moans, rockin’ her cunt on my crotch.

  Nope. Not happenin’. Too bad for her that I don’t bang random holes when sober.

  I jerk my face outta her cleavage. “Not interested.”

  Knowin’ full well I’m lying, she calls me on it when she painfully grips my trapped hard-on. “He wants me. We haven’t had sex in months. And you can’t use the excuse anymore that you won’t fuck me ‘cause I’m too pregnant. You just screwed Ka-trina, who’s way bigger than me.” Nuzzlin’ her nose to my neck, Vanessa then sucks the spot beneath my ear that drives me wild.

  Grittin’ my teeth, I throttle a groan. The last thing she needs is encouragement. This has gotta stop before I do somethin’ dumber than I’m about to do.

  Threadin’ my fingers through the base of Vanessa’s dark hair, I yank her head back to keep her from maulin’ my skin any further. I don’t need Kat thinkin’ there’s somethin’ going down here that’s not. As much as she acts as if it’s none of her business—that she doesn’t care—she does care, and I do wanna tell her. I wanna tell her every single thing. Only, I can’t. Not yet.

  “You’re my wife, baby.” Layin’ it on thick, the words leave a putrid aftertaste on my tongue. “And you’re close to givin’ birth.” Usin’ my free hand, I sweetly massage her bump. As much as I should feel pride that I got a kid growin’ inside her, I don’t. There’s nothin’ but shame. Once the baby’s born, I hope I’ll love it as much as I do Rox and Scarlet. I dunno if I can. I can’t imagine lovin’ anything or anyone as much as I love my three girls and the munchkin on the way.

  Not finished with my speech, I dial the charismatic bullshit up a notch. Peckin’ her cheek, she inhales a shuddery breath. That’s when I know I’ve caught the rat in my trap, right where she belongs. If she wasn’t betrayin’ my club, this wouldn’t be justified. Now that I know what I know, there’s nothing I won’t do to pull her strings hard enough to have her gaggin’ for my dick like a lovesick puppy. “I swear the reason we can’t have sex is because I don’t wanna hurt the baby.”

  Smiling as if I hang the moon, Vanessa cups my cheek, gazing adoringly into my eyes. “I know you don’t. I just miss my husband.”

  Covering her hand with mine, I lean into her touch. “I miss you, too. Not much longer and we’ll have this club off our backs and I can move you into the cabin.” Hot damn. I’m a mighty fine liar. I didn’t even flinch. The sooner she gets off me, the sooner I can search her phone and plant the bugs Gunz had couriered by one of his connections.

  Vanessa’s eyes widen in surprise. “You want me to move into the cabin after your ex leaves?”

  “Yes, sweetheart. I want you with me always. I’m sorry I didn’t act like it before.” Game. Set. Match. “Now why don’t you go get dressed? I’ll take you to breakfast before our appointment.”

  Swiftly dropping a kiss to my lips, she scurries off my lap. “Okay. I want waffles and lots of eggs. I’ve been craving eggs like crazy.”

  Upholding the charade, I swat her ass playfully. Though, it’s not full enough for my taste. I’m all about the T&A. That’s one of the first things that attracted me to my little Tiger. She’s got both in abundance.

  “Alright then. Eggs and waffles it is. Go get to it, sexy,” I comment.

  With a little bounce in her step, Vanessa exits the room. Her bedroom door closes, and that’s when I extract the three bugs from the inside pocket of my cut. Sticking one under the kitchen table, close to the leg, I pause what I’m doin’ when I see her phone lyin’ face down on the counter. Scanning my surroundings and listening for her movements in the other room, I plug in her password that she doesn’t think I know, screenshot any suspicious texts to inspect later, send them to myself, then delete any evidence of my duplicitousness.

  By the time Vanessa’s done, I’ve planted all the bugs and read through most of the screenshots. It’s a damn good thing I can control the way I unleash my rage, unlike Kade who would’ve hung Vanessa by now if he read the texts I just did. That’s why he’s not in the loop. He’s a wild card in general. Add his attachment to my old lady and he’s downright irrational. Not a single one of us could stop him from murderin’ Vanessa at this point. ‘Cause the conniving bitch has officially put the C in conniving. She’s informed whomever she’s been texting daily of my arrival and departure times. Where I go. When I get back. Has supplied the cabin’s address. Told them about Rosie and Katrina bein’ there. She left out anything about my kids, which is decent of her. If you wanna call any of this decent. There’s also been an exchange of fee negotiations. And a bunch of other bullshit I don’t wanna go in to right now, or I’m liable to start shootin’.

  Fuck.

  This is worse than I thought.

  She’s in deep.

  If it wouldn’t blow my cover, I’d ask her why she’s doin’ this. Maybe shake some sense into her naive brain.

  Yet, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see why she betrayed me and my club. It’s written between the lines. She wants me all to herself. Katrina’s a threat. I didn’t think Vanessa had it in her. Truly. I know she almost always gets what she wants. And can be a cutthroat bitch. Her possessiveness around the club whores is apparent anytime she sets foot in the clubhouse d
urin’ a party. I just never thought she’d stoop to this level. It’s low, even for her. Hell. It's low for anyone with a heart still beatin’ in their chest. But, as they say … money talks. And Vanessa’s got another ten Gs to collect. Dumb cunt. If it weren’t for my baby growin’ in her belly, and the valuable information I’m siphoning, Big would’ve hired somebody outside the club to put her to ground.

  “Ready,” Vanessa singsongs, prancing into the room, clad in a pair of designer jeans, a t-shirt, and leather ridin’ boots.

  Eyeing said boots, I nod toward ‘em. “You know I’m not takin’ ya on the Harley, right?”

  Vanessa’s bottom lip juts into a pout, and she clasps her hands in front of her, tryin’ to appear innocent and cute. A fair amount of cleavage heaves outta her V-neckline, dispelling that notion. “Why not?”

  “You’re pregnant. Precious cargo don’t ride under any circumstances. We gotta take your car.” The one I bought her since the jalopy she was puttin’ around town was burnin’ oil and had more holes than Swiss cheese.

  “Fine.” Snaggin’ her zippy hoodie, and her Property Of cut off the kitchen chair, she shrugs them on. I unhook her keys from the elephant holder beside the front door.

  “Grab your purse. I’ll meet ya in the car … sweetheart,” I tack on for show before exiting the trailer. At least the doctor’s appointment should keep her preoccupied long enough that I can shoot these screenshots over to Big.

  Unlocking her Toyota, I heave a sigh and slip into the driver’s seat.

  Midnight can’t come soon enough.

  I miss my little Tiger already.

  Kat

  Setting a large roast in the cart, I turn to its pilot, Rosie, who’s discreetly scanning our surroundings as if she expects Michael Myers to attack in the next aisle. If she wasn’t so focused on her job, she might actually participate in the shopping trip. When I suggested we pick up groceries for the week, she seemed fine with it. First, she insisted on driving because you can never be too careful. I obliged, since I know that’s what Dad would expect. Second, as a precaution, she drove around the small market twice to be certain we weren’t tailed. Third, before I was given the okay to exit the Suburban, she did a simple sweep of the parking lot. Forth, once inside, she subtly profiled everyone as if they’re criminals who may need apprehended. Even the eighty-year-old lady who picked peaches beside me had Rosie’s attention. I appreciate she takes her job seriously. I guess I just never considered what having a bodyguard would entail. She’s stoic, aloof, yet her eyes are continually evaluating. Most people wouldn’t pick up on her quick once-overs. But, I do. My father always taught me to be alert. To pay attention to details. Rosie’s a true professional by blending in seamlessly, when, in reality, she could kill everyone in here in under sixty seconds flat. Big couldn’t have picked a more competent bodyguard.