Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
“We needed something half an hour ago,” Talia said, standing back up. She stepped forward into the woman’s space, thrusting her chest out. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“I’m real sorry,” she said. “We’re just slammed. I’m sure we can—”
“We deserve a free round,” Talia said. “This is your fault, not ours.”
Gage shot me a look.
“Baby, let’s go dance,” he said, reaching for her hand. “I want to feel you up against me.”
“I’m busy,” Talia said, and while she didn’t flip him off, she might as well have. She glared at the waitress. “Are you going to get us the drinks?”
The woman glanced at Marsh, then nodded her head quickly. “Sure, I’ll be right back.”
She backed away, making for the bar door.
“See, it’s all about how you talk to them,” Talia declared, and Marsh started laughing. “I’m ready for that dance now.”
She grabbed Gage’s hand, dragging him toward the dance floor. My eyes followed them. Ah fuck. There was a big guy wearing a bar T-shirt talking to the group of off-duty cops, pointing toward our group. Bouncer.
The men stood up and started walking toward us. I needed to do something. Fast.
“Marsh,” I said in a low voice, leaning into the seated man. “We gotta get out of here.”
He stood slowly, stepping into my space.
“Did you just give me an order?”
Seriously? The cops were coming and he wanted to play bullshit games?
“No, but those guys are police, and they’re headed this way,” I said urgently. “This is trouble none of us needs.”
Marsh narrowed his eyes. “How do you know they’re cops? You’re working for them, aren’t you?”
From the corners of my eyes, I saw his crew crowding in. Then Marsh was on me, his fist catching me hard in the stomach. I lunged for him, a sudden rush of adrenaline pushing me through the pain as people started shouting all around us. The Nighthawk brothers jumped in, punching and kicking me from every side. I was vaguely aware of Gage shouting, trying to reach me. More hits and then I went down, catching a foot in my kidney.
In an instant, the cops were on us and Marsh forgot all about me. I watched as he pulled out an ugly knife, then launched himself at one of them. Ah, fuck. Suddenly Gage was next to me, catching me by the arms to drag me back. A body flew by, knocking him over. I saw a flash of bright red blood spray through the air. Catching a chair, I started to pull myself up when someone hit me over the back of the head.
I pitched forward, and in the instant before I hit the ground I thought about Melanie. About our baby.
About the fact that I was almost certainly going back to prison.
I’d fucked up. Bad.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TWO WEEKS LATER
Dear Painter,
I got your letter asking me to come and see you before they send you back to California. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I even drove down to the jail once. I sat in the car for half an hour and then I turned around, because I’m just not ready to talk to you.
I don’t know when I’ll be ready.
I understand that you panicked—when I found out about the baby, I panicked, too. I cried on the bathroom floor because I was so scared. It’s a terrifying thing, to suddenly discover that you’re going to be a parent. But here’s the thing . . . you didn’t only panic. You took off and did something that you knew could land you back in prison. That was a choice you made and there are serious consequences. Now I’m having a baby by myself and you’re going to be gone for two years. Do you realize that we’ve only spent a few weeks together, total, in the entire time I’ve known you?
You asked if I would consider waiting for you. No. I have one person in my life right now who really matters, and that’s the one growing in my stomach. Four weeks spent together full of unanswered questions and secret trips away from me isn’t enough to build a life on. It isn’t fair to me or our baby to sit around waiting for a man who ran away from us. And yes, you say you regret it¸ but you also did something guaranteed to separate us. You don’t even have to choose to ignore your child. You’re gone by default.
And I think that’s what you really wanted anyway . . . to have this problem go away.
Now it’s gone.
I don’t hate you. For what it’s worth, I’m sad. I’d say you broke my heart but that’s not true—I can’t afford a broken heart. I’m a mother now, or I will be soon. If I’m going to take care of this baby, I can’t afford to put any more time and energy into a man who will always put his motorcycle club first.