“Are you still mad?” she mutters, climbing to her feet. She wipes over her lips and I swallow thickly at the sight. I don’t think I could ever get enough when it comes to her.
Shaking my head, I fix my pants. “Nah, but what knife did you use to cut my tire?”
“It’s ummm…the one on my keyring.” She gestures to the dresser and then goes and gets her keys. Holding her palm out in front of me, I lift them up, finding the small pocket knife. It’s the definition of cute to a chick. To me, it looks like something I would’ve had when I was six.
“Dollface, let me get you a knife, yeah?” I remove herknifewhich would be considered a nail cleaner to me and hand her the keys. B nods, her stare curious.
She follows me to my room, where I go to my closet to retrieve an actual knife. It’s the type she should be carrying for safety or whatever it is she uses it for. Holding out the dark purple handle, she takes it from me.
“Wow, a switchblade?” She palms it in one hand, looking it over, then switches to the other hand, weighing it.
“Yeah, baby, you need something better than that scrap of metal you had on your key ring. You’re lucky it didn’t break in my tire and cut your damn hand. I’d have been more pissed havin’ to call up the doc because you needed stitched up,” I mutter, and she rewards me with a bright smile. “What?” She’s not going to fight me on it?
“Nothing, just…thank you for this.” She presses the lever with her finger—with a bright blue polished nail—and the blade shoots out. My breath falters a bit like some sort of candy-ass.
“Now, be careful with that shit.”
“I will.” She grins, sheathing the blade again. She twists around, heading for her room.
“Where are you going?”
“To bed! Dinner’s in the microwave,” the troublemaker calls behind her like I should already know.
I can’t believe she didn’t fight me on the knife. The downfall to that is if she gets pissed again, she can really screw up some shit with it. Hopefully, it’s not my bike that takes the heat again…or me, for that matter.
Shit’s gettin’ real.
Saddle up and hold on.
A week has passed in pretty much a blur. Bethany started a new job that I wasn’t happy about, but on the plus side, it’s close to the house. She only works during the day, too, so that’s an advantage.
I like what consists of family time that we get together even if I piss her off half of the time. She picks up Maverick from Princess and heads home, and then I show up sometime later. We’ve began our first routine it seems.
It’s crazy how much things change when you have a woman and a kid in your life. I no longer want to sit at the club, drinking and bullshitting with my brothers. I’d rather be home with them. Sure, I enjoy my time at the club, but I also enjoy my time with her and Maverick, too.
Before, if I wasn’t working out or fixing up a bike, I would go a little stir-crazy at home alone. I’ve always been sort of a loner, but after being around my brothers for so long, I’ve grown used to them and their company. Having B and Mav at the house has taken away the quiet. They’re always doing something, too, whether it’s watching TV, listening to music, or Maverick’s busy building some sort of fort in the living room.
Pulling my bike up beside her car, I park the freshly-painted beauty and make my way up the small walkway. That’s another thing she’s done; she’s planted flowers. Never gave two shits about that sort of thing before, but I like them, too.
The small touches make the place seem homier rather than just a crash pad. It’s got me thinking about painting the trim and front door as well. The chick is domesticating my ass just by bringing plants around. Ruger would love to find that out and give me some shit over it, I’d bet.
Heading up the walkway, I immediately catch sight that the main door isn’t shut all the way, which has me curious. I wonder if Maverick was screwing with it. B asked me to install a chain lock up high, and I haven’t done it yet.
Seeing the door cracked, though, I’ll make sure and get to it this weekend. The last thing I want is our kid outside when no one is watching him. He’s smart, but he’s no angel, I’ve come to discover.
Entering quietly, I hear her. It sounds almost like she’s pleading with someone not to hurt her son.Our son.I don’t have any clue what the fuck’s going down, so I draw my blade free from my pants. Flicking the large, heavy blade open, I creep stealthily through the entryway. They’re in the living room which throws me in the middle of the scene immediately.
Some fucker in an Iron Fists cut is in my living room, holding a gun at Bethany, who’s standing in front of my son protectively. He notices me immediately, switching tactics. He pulls her in front of his body and aims his weapon toward me.
“Get over to where I can see you, Oath Keeper,” he hisses, and his teeth are black, from a bad Meth habit if I had to guess.
Doing as he says, I hold my palms out to my sides. I keep a solid grip on my blade with my thumb, but act as if I don’t want any trouble. My gaze is surprised like he has one up on me.
I watch in utter amazement as Bethany holds her keys tightly in her palm, keeping it together. She must’ve been coming home from her new job when this asshole saw her and followed her and Maverick home. I have to give her major props for staying strong and protecting our child while I wasn’t here.
“Momma?” My son steps forward and Bethany sputters.
“No, no, no buddy.” She holds her free hand out in a stop motion. “You stay over there and hold onto that puppy for Mommy. I don’t want you coming over here or I could get hurt.”