She’ll never know just how much I wish I could have stopped her. There’s no way she could understand that I let her walk away so that she could have a better life and be happy.
There’s no way she needs to tie herself down to someone like me.
She may not see that now, but someday, she will and that’s all that counts.
Chapter 29
Lyla
Two Months Later
“Lyla, honey, are you okay?”
I force myself to hold my head up. Immediately, the room begins to spin and my stomach lurches.
“I’m dying,” I mutter, mostly under my breath, although I should have figured my father would pick today to discover he had superhuman hearing.
He shoves the door open, and it breaks free from the lock with a splitting noise that makes me wince.
“What the hell?” Dad growls.
“You just ruined the lock on my door,” I huff, and it would help if I could sound more pissed and less like I want to hurl, but I don’t. So, I lay my head back against the pillow and keep my eyes closed.
“I don’t care about the damn door. I’ll have one of the prospects fix it. You said you were dying,” he snaps.
“I didn’t mean it literally,” I defend.
I shift so I can look at him while I talk, and that was a huge mistake. My stomach instantly revolts.
“Oh, God!” I cry, though the words are muffled as I slap my hand against my mouth and sprint toward the bathroom. The world is still shifting all around me, but I fight the dizziness and make it to the bathroom, barely getting the lid open in time to heave out the measly contents in my stomach. I’m actually not sure how I’m vomiting. It’s not like I’ve been able to hold anything down for a week.
“Damn it,” Dad growls, stomping into the bathroom like a dark thunder cloud intent on bringing a monsoon full of destruction.
I hear water running while I finish and hug the toilet just because it hurts to raise my head. Before I can ask my father what he’s doing, a cool cloth is pressed against my forehead, and I feel my dad’s strong arms going around me, hugging me close as he picks me up. I go limp in his arms as he carries me to the bed. I lay my head against my father’s chest, and his heart beating in my ear is somehow comforting.
“That’s it. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“No,” I whimper. “It’s just a stomach virus. It will get better.”
“You’ve been like this on and off for a month. You’re going to the doctor.”
“Not right now, Daddy. I don’t feel like moving.”
“I knew you would say that,” he grumbles.
“Then, why push me when I need to just lie here and let the world stop spinning,” I complain.
“Because I was hoping I was wrong. I knew I wouldn’t be, though, and that’s why I had King get Doc.”
“You didn’t?” I gasp, panic beginning to boil inside of me.
“Damn straight I did,” Dad says, and as if to prove his point, King and Doc show up and walk through my broken door right on cue.
Shit. I’ve officially ran out of time.
“Hey, princess. King tells me you’ve been sick for a week. Why in the hell haven’t you gone to the doctor?” Doc asks.
I love Doc. He’s probably the oldest member of the Demon Chasers MC. He was here when Dad was a kid—a fact he rarely lets my father forget. He’s got a full head of shiny, almost white but more silver hair. It falls way past his shoulders except when he braids it in a style that he swears Willie Nelson stole from him. He speaks frank and loudly. Although to be fair, I think he talks that loud because he can’t hear and refuses to wear hearing aids.
“Because I don’t need to. I’m fine,” I argue, preparing myself.
“You look about as fine as King here would look if he was stark naked in the middle of San Quentin and left for a play toy with his dick waving in the wind and his ass spread.”
“Fuck you,” King growls under his breath. Of all of Dad’s men, King probably intimidates me the most. Most of the guys in the club are easy going, but King is intense. He can be cocky, but he has always been nice to me. That’s not why he intimidates me. There’s a number of things. He’s huge, all length and muscle thrown together in a way that is beautiful but overpowering. His dark skin is riddled with scars, but they are scars you know he got the hard way and earned, which is a bit frightening. Dad says he’d rather hit someone than talk to them, and that makes him dangerous as hell.
I can’t really disagree with him.