It was stupid of me, so stupid, but I reached down and grabbed the key I’d hung on a leather strip that I wore around my neck.
The act of wearing it like a necklace was ridiculous enough, but the need to touch what he claimed belonged to me was impossible to avoid.
Not when I was so insecure where he was concerned.
So pathetically insecure.
The thought had me closing my eyes even as I fingered the key he claimed was the singular way to open up the goddamn padlock on his dick.
Yes, the man had put a padlock on his dick.
I still couldn’t get over it.
Still couldn’t deal with it.
My ex-husband, the cheating rat bastard, had gotten a piercing, then instead of threading a ring through it like any other normal person, he’d slipped a padlock through the tip.
A heavy one.
An uncomfortable one.
One so large that it made me wince when I glanced at his crotch which, of course, I did every time he visited.
Now that I knew it was there, I couldn’t stop playing peekaboo with it.
God help me.
He claimed the only key to that padlock was the one I wore around my neck.
He’d lied to me a lot over the years, so I had to question whether I could believe that now or not, but for whatever reason, I was wearing the damn thing. So that meant I did believe him, didn’t it?
"Keira? I know you’re there."
Licking the lips I’d just been worrying with my teeth, I rasped, "I don’t know what to believe anymore, Storm."
He grunted. "Trust is earned, Keira, I know that."
He sounded disappointed, not angry, which had my shoulders straightening, a weird relief filling me. I’d half-expected him to be resentful, but he was surprisingly patient with me too. It wasn’t something he bestowed solely on Cyan.
I didn’t apologize, even though the words were on the tip of my tongue, instead, I mumbled, "They’re going to treat me like the Prez’s wife."
A soft laugh escaped him. "That’s because you are, Keira. Whether you decide to go through with the divorce or not, you know Sinners don’t work that way.
"The wedding was for your parents—not that it ever got them to approve of me—but you’re my wife—"
"Until you pick someone to fill my shoes," I sniped.
"Ain’t gonna happen," was his calm, resolute response to that.
"If you say so."
"I do."
His resolve didn’t fill me with peace, just confusion. "Why couldn’t you have made this decision all those years ago?"
He made a soft noise that told me the baby was fussing again. "Because I was young, foolish, and to be frank, an asswipe.
"If Cyan comes home with a dipshit like me when she’s eighteen, don’t worry, I’ll handle him."
A shocked laugh escaped me. "Going to feed him to the pigs?"
"Yeah," he said gruffly. "I deserve worse, but I—" He hesitated. "I’m not sure how to make this right, Keira. You know that. We’ve talked about it. Maybe there’s no way I can, and that’s on me. I just... Never mind, you don’t need to hear that.
"Can you come, honey? I need your help. MaryCat really needs your help. If she don’t want you looking after him, can’t think she’d want a fucking sweetbutt holding her kid."
I hadn’t needed that particular trigger to be pulled, but the mention of sweetbutts holding an Old Lady’s child was like a cattle prod to my spine. I stiffened and informed him, "I’ll be there in less than an hour."
"Thanks, babe."
Babe.
He cut the call.
Babe.
Even though I needed to rush, I opened the messaging app that had my group chat with the West Orange Old Ladies and typed out:
Me: Storm asked me to look after MaryCat’s baby.
Lily: Huh?
Tiffany: MaryCat? As in OUR MaryCat? My sister-in-law MaryCat?
Me: Apparently, yeah. She’s here.
Tiffany: Sin didn’t tell me she was coming to visit with you.
Me: Sounds like it was a surprise all round. She’s passed out cold in Storm’s office.
Tiffany: What the hell happened?
Giulia: I hear gossip.
Me: More than just gossip. I’ll report back when I know more.
Lily: You doing okay down there, honey? You’ve been quiet.
Me: It’s crazy to me that I miss West Orange when I hate the place… I guess I miss you guys and everything.
Giulia: Is Cyan still acting up?
Me: In front of everyone but her dad. Lol.
Giulia: Is Storm dealing with it?
Me: He mentioned just now that her attitude is getting out of hand.
Giulia: Good, he needs to get that under control. She okay with everything else?
By everything else, she was talking about the fact that my baby girl had been goddamn groomed by a fifty-year-old pervert.
That she’d willingly gotten into a car with him.
That she’d done so because the bastard had promised to take her to her daddy after they visited Disney World together.
The thought was more than just a knife to the gut. It was like someone stabbed me, twisting the knife over and over and over and over again, forcing that goddamn blade deeper, making the hole ten times bigger until the gut rot overtook me, killing me from the inside out.
I’d done that.
Somehow, I’d made her this way.
It had to be my fault, right? They always blamed the parents…
Rather than write it all out, I sent them an audio note.
"Ladies, I’ll let you know what’s going on with MaryCat. As for You Know Who, she’s doing okay, as much as she can be, I think. Therapy’s hard, mostly for me, but, yeah, it’s all good." It was. Technically. I just felt like shit. "I gotta go help MaryCat. Speak later."
Before I could be convinced to speak with them further, before I could really open up about how tense things were at home, how Storm was fucking with my head by being so understanding and pleasant and not blaming me for anything all while being, well, him, alongside how much I hated Coshocton, I slipped my cell into my pocket.
"Cyan, get your things together. We’re going to spend some time at the clubhouse," I hollered as I left the kitchen.
Of course, like the little biker princess she was, the news had her hooting with glee.
Of course, the last thing I was was a biker princess.
As I climbed into the shower to wash up and to change out of my dirty clothes, I wished I felt half as happy about a trip to the clubhouse.
Dear Keira
You smiled back at me today. Not like before. Where it was accidental. We shared the smile. We shared a look.
It was... weird.
I loved it.
You saw me.
You really saw me.
I know you did.
You were smiling at that fucker in front of you, one of those teen pricks who probably can’t keep his dick in his pants, and when he does, makes a two-pump chump look good in the sack, but then you saw me.
Your smile faltered, turning hesitant, before it widened some.
You don’t know how that smile kept me going.
You don’t know what it stopped me from doing.
Today was not a good day.
Mom OD’d.
I know what you’re thinking.