“I love Mamba and Maria. Enough is enough.”
Throwing my leg over my bike, I finally straighten as I clear my throat. “I never figured out how you guys could do that, the three of you and not feel like a third wheel.”
“I don’t, usually. Lately…”
“Not enough Mamba time?” I ask, guessing at what the issue is.
I’ve seen Mamba and Maria together recently, but Gator has been hit and miss. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what the problem could be. There is a long moment of silence, too fucking long, then Gator’s gaze flicks to mine.
“Yeah,” he admits. “I love Maria, but I need that too.”
“Figured you’d come here for some dick, not pussy, then.”
Gator shrugs a shoulder. He doesn’t answer me immediately, instead he tips his head back to look at the sky before he lowers his gaze to meet my own.
He licks his lips before he finally speaks. “It’s not always about sex, Mountain. Sometimes it’s just about being wanted.”
Without another word, he turns from me and walks into the clubhouse. I follow behind him quietly, my gaze moving around the room as quickly, and thoroughly as possible looking for Leighton.
That is, until I see her.
I know when she recognizes me. Her eyes widen and she drops the glass in her hand that she’d been drying. I take a step toward her, then another, and another, but she doesn’t move. That is, until she skirts around the bar, then it’s my turn to freeze in my tracks.
That’s when I see it.
LEIGHTON
Shit.
I should have told him.
I really should have told him.
It’s too late now and I kind of want to cry.
Skirting the bar, I take a step toward him. I’m going to explain, going to talk to him. Going to tell him the sex of our child. I know what it is, her. I know that I’m carrying a daughter. When his eyes move over my body, his feet freeze in their place, but mine don’t.
“Wilder?” I ask as I approach him. He doesn’t say anything, his gaze focused and looking nowhere but my protruding belly.
“What the fuck?” he finally rasps. He lifts his eyes to meet mine, and instead of shocked surprise, anger meets me.
Taking a step back, I shake my head. “Let’s talk about this,” I whisper.
“This is fucking karma.”
He reaches out, wrapping his hand around my wrist to stop me from retreating. He tugs me back toward him, spinning around, I fall against his chest slightly, bracing my hand against him for support.
“You’re coming home with me,” he announces.
“I don’t think so,” I snap.
He dips his chin, his eyes focused on mine and anger rolls through him. “Bitch,” he sneers. “You’re coming home with me. Where you belong, I don’t give a fuck you’re carrying some other guy’s kid. You’re both mine now.”
My lips part, then I snap them closed. Maybe I should let him believe that this is someone else’s child. Maybe all of this would be easier. As soon as it sinks in, then he’ll be quick to let me go. Something niggles at the back of my mine—guilt.
I can’t keep this from him. It wouldn’t be right. He deserves to know, even if he’s being a massive asshole. Honestly, I think that’s just who he is. And this is the point where I have to decide if I can live with a man like this—but then again, do I have a choice? I am carrying his child, I’m penniless, and I definitely have feelings for him, I’m just not sure exactly what they mean.
“We need to talk,” I whisper.
Mountain dips down. “Fuck talk.”
“Please,” I plead.
“You wanna let her the fuck go,” Dutch’s voice rings out.
Both of us turn our heads and look over to see him standing a few feet away. Dutch has his arms hanging loosely at his sides, his hands balled into fists and a murderous look in his eye.
“Please, Dutch. Don’t,” I exhale.
Mountain shakes me slightly by his grip on my wrist. “You don’t speak to him,” he grunts.
Looking at Mountain, I frown. “Don’t, Dutch, please,” I beg.
Mountain grips my wrist tighter. “Shut the fuck up,” he snaps.
“You talk to me, let her the fuck go,” Dutch barks.
Mountain snarls, pushing me away slightly, but not enough that he lets me go, he keeps his grip around my wrist firm. “You claiming Leighton?”
Dutch’s eyes flick from him to me, then back to him. I shake my head. I don’t want him to claim me, I don’t want anyone to claim me. I just want to be free, for the first time in my life, I want to just be free.
It’s a fruitless dream though. It will never happen, because nobody is truly ever free.
“Do I need to?” Dutch asks, his gaze flicking back to meeting my own.
I shake my head. I don’t want Dutch, we’re not like that and he knows it. He’s just fucking with Mountain. But then, I’m pissed at Mountain, so I’m not sure that I want him right now, either.
There is a moment of silence, then, with zero fanfare, Mountain scoops me up in his arms and turns around, carrying me out of the clubhouse without a word to anyone.
Chapter Thirty-One
LEIGHTON
“Put me down,” I growl as he steps outside of the clubhouse and onto the gravel parking lot.
“So you can run again? I don’t fucking think so,” he shouts with a bark of laughter. I struggle against his hold, but his arms tighten, refusing to let me go. “Stop it or I’ll drop you,” he grinds out.
“Let me go then,” I grunt.
He doesn’t say anything right away, doesn’t move. Instead, he grunts before he turns toward the side of the building. I hold my breath as he walks us around the side and down toward the back, his steps faltering when he sees the modular home that I share with Ana.
“That’s where you been livin’?”
“Yes,” I bite out.
Without another word, he carries me directly into the house, bypassing both Gator and Ana who are sitting extremely close on the couch together. I don’t say anything about that, although I do try to catch a glimpse of what’s happening between them.
“First door on the right,” Gator calls out.
“Traitor,” I shout.
I hear his low male laughter, but he doesn’t respond to my name-calling. Mountain walks into my room, slamming the door behind us with his foot, and only then does he let me down onto my feet. However, he doesn’t take a step back, and his hands grip my hips, which don’t allow me to run away from him—the jerk face.
“He fuck you in here?” he asks as he dips his head and his gaze catches mine.
“Stop,” I rasp.
He shakes his head, his eyes focused on mine and not looking anywhere else. He wants an answer. He’s demanding an answer, and silently, he’s not leaving until he gets that answer. I feel like being a bitch, just to make him leave, just to watch him walk away, but another part of me wants him to stay and fight.
I’ve never had a man give a fuck about me, to actually fight for me, his group ridding the earth of my father, that in and of itself is more than any other person has ever done. If he actually fought for me, that would be nothing short of a miracle.