Haunt (Bayonet Scars #6) (13 page)

“Sorry, baby,” I say and pull back. Zander’s eyes search mine for an answer. He knows something up. My boy’s not stupid.

“What’s going on?”

Honesty, Amber. You’ve always been honest with the kid.

“Your dad wants to see you,” I say with a smile. The kid’s entire fucking face lights up. He tries to play it cool, but I can see the hope in his eyes. “There was a scuffle at the club, but it’s all good.”

“You’re lying,” he says stiffly. My kid’s got a bullshit detector most men would envy. Admittedly, he got that from his momma.

“Not about your dad, just about the club shit. Not our business, though.”

“Since when has club business been none of yours?”

“Since I’m talking to my fourteen-year-old,” I say. Zander knows basically nothing about the club’s beef with Mancuso, and he definitely knows nothing about Segreti and whatever the hell is going on there, and I would just as soon it stays that way. I won’t lie to him if he asks a direct question, but I do omit as much as I can.

“I won’t be fourteen forever, lady.” Zander huffs and pushes off from the couch. His voice has taken on a real grouchy tone that I don’t much care for but can’t do much about. Not unless I want to spend the whole of my waking hours dealing with it. My boy is already six feet—not surprising since his dad’s six-foot-six—and something to contend with when I’m trying to ground his gargantuan ass. And right now, with the way his shoulders are heaving and his nostrils flaring, I can tell that he’s fixing to earn himself some trouble. “I’m gonna have my cut one day, and I’ll be the one who knows shit and doesn’t tell you about it.”

I take a deep breath as Piper stands and starts jumping up and down on my lap. She balances herself by grabbing at my nose and ear. It hurts like hell, but I try to focus on her brother. I narrow my eyes at Z and give him a devious smile. I’m way better at this game than he is.

“You’ll need the president’s approval. And do you really think he’ll sign off on you prospecting if his old lady shuts that shit down?”

“That’s just cold, Mom,” he says and kicks at the carpet.

In the distance, I can hear a Harley approaching. My eyes fall closed for half a second. I instinctively know who it is. Piper pulls at my nose, shooting throbbing pain through my head and face. Shit. I gently take her little hand and pretend to eat it.

“Take your sister to your room.” I wipe my face free of baby drool and hand Piper to her brother. Zander expertly takes her with one arm and walks away without argument. I have to work to wipe the shock from my face. Zander normally argues about everything, so to say I’m suspect would be an understatement. I don’t have time for that, though.

My feet carry me across the room quickly as I rush to the front door and peer out. Dad’s house is a little ramshackle ranch on a couple of acres just outside Fort Bragg. His closest neighbors are far enough away that I’ve never actually met them and don’t even know what they look like. I doubt he does either. Even if I didn’t know the sound of Wyatt’s Harley, I’d know it was Forsaken approaching. Nobody else comes out here—especially not on a bike.

With a steely resolve, I walk out of the house and shut the door firmly behind me. The house is shielded by tall redwoods that blanket the surrounding land in a shadow that the sun rarely breaks through. Through the dotted landscape, I can just make out the shiny chrome on its approach. The closer it gets, the better I can see the rider. Wyatt’s massive frame straddles his Harley. He rides through the last few trees that were hiding his approach and comes fully into view. His tall, hulking frame is perched on a shiny black bike with sparkling chrome pipes that growl as he flies down the dirt road. His hair is longer than it’s ever been, down past his shoulders now. It blows in the wind, slapping at his cheeks and getting caught on the black sunglasses he wears beneath his half helmet. My stomach knots. Suddenly I feel like I did back in Michigan when I was sixteen and waiting for Wyatt to pick me up. Mishy and I lived in this house with Dad when we came out here, but I was only here for a few weeks before I officially moved in with Wyatt.

Dad’s napping right now, probably sleeping off a fifth of tequila, but he’s heard the bike no doubt. At least, that’s how my luck’s gone lately. I just hope he stays inside if he’s conscious. As far as I know, he and Wyatt haven’t seen each other in years, and for now at least, I’d like to keep it that way. The green plastic sandbox in the shape of a turtle that Dad bought Piper catches my attention, reminding me that there’s more important things to talk to Wyatt about than his and Dad’s beef.

He pulls up, cuts the engine, props her up, and pulls off his helmet. A ball forms in my throat as I watch him move. He’s been riding since he was fifteen—much to #mom# chagrin—and it shows. He handles the large Harley as if it weighs nothing. The taut muscles in his arms are on full display in the black wifebeater he wears under his cut, showing off the tattoos that cover most of his flesh. I mentally note that he’s changed from what he was wearing earlier—well, his shirt at least.

“Ran out on me,” he says. His voice makes it sound like he’s thirsty, so gravely and rough. “Last time I remember you running out on me, you were eight months pregnant with our fuckin’ son. Don’t like seeing you leave me.”

“We need to talk,” I say quickly before he can reach me.

“You need to quit fucking leaving me.”

“Quit giving me reason to!” That’s not totally fair. It’s not exactly his fault the Italian guys showed up when they did. It’s not one hundred percent his fault that Rig targeted Zander. But it doesn’t exactly matter either. Ever since Rig, I’ve been on edge and my moods are fluctuating like crazy. I don’t like these feelings. Adding Wyatt to the mix turns my crazy into straight-up insanity.

Wyatt storms toward me, grabs me around the waist and pulls me against him. He tips my face up toward his. And all his gentle turns into something else entirely in the blink of an eye.

“Knock it the fuck off!” He screams in my face, so loud, but I barely hear the words.

The ball in my throat hardens, and I’m forced to swallow it. My hands shake with an anger that I don’t expect. I don’t know why I’m so mad right now, but I am. Nervous, sure. Anxious, yeah. But mad? That one confuses me. I don’t dwell on it, though, because the frustration becomes too much to swallow. I push him off me, angry and annoyed. I suck in an unsteady breath as we stare each other down. He huffs. My eyes fall to his lips and stay there. It’s magnetic, the pull his lips have over me. Every time I look at them, I’m either desperate to touch them, or I remember every vile word he’s ever said to me. If I’m being honest with myself, even then, in those moments of remembrance, I still want his mouth on me. Nothing ever changes that. I hate admitting that, even to myself, though.

I pull my gaze from his lips to find his eyes are on my mouth. His tongue pokes out, drags over his rough lips. I could fall into this. I could let this happen so easily, but then we’ll end up right back where we started.

“You can’t kiss me. You’re going to hate me soon, so please don’t kiss me.”

“What?” His mood has shifted. A sly smile breaks out on his face. He’s gorgeous when he smiles. His hands hold me in place tighter than before but still gentle. I missed this so much. Wyatt’s the only man I’ve ever known who can be so rough and demanding while still touching me like I’m something precious. As much as I’ve missed his touch, I’m going to miss it even more when he hates me.

“You’re going to hate me,” I say again, only this time louder. My heart breaks at the thought of pushing him away, but I do it anyway. I shove him off me and scrub my face with my hands. “You’re not going to want me when you know what I’ve done.”

My voice is raised, as if he won’t hear me unless I’m screaming. I have to get this out, though, and if it comes out as a shout, oh well. But it doesn’t seem to matter how loud I say it, because he just stares at me in bewilderment.

“I don’t know why you’re acting like this, but I’m fucking over it. My woman knows what she wants, and she goes after it. She doesn’t act like some scared little fucking girl, so knock it off. You keep this shit up, and you’re right, I might not want you.”

He’s not getting it. I need him good and mad so he can leave. If he stays here, he’s just going to get Zander and Dad’s attention, and I really don’t want that. What he said earlier—about me being different—I am. So much has happened since that month we conceived Piper. So much is different now.
I’m
different.

And I need him to understand, so I tell him the one thing I don’t want to. The one thing that makes me feel like shit.

“I was sleeping with Rig.” I hate the way it sounds coming out of my mouth. Nothing about that admission or the fact that it happened makes me feel anything close to okay. Letting Rig take my body is a huge betrayal to Wyatt. Huge in the way that might be worse than not telling him about Piper. I won’t tell him how it started, I can’t. Not even if it spares me his wrath. I’m not that girl.

I’m not
.

Half a second after I say it, he explodes. An angry, distraught scream bellows from him. Not even in the form of words, but just pain with a side of hatred. His face screws up, with squinted eyes and a nasty snarl on his lips. I need to explain, to clarify that Rig didn’t make his move until a few years after Zander was born.

“You always wanted to fuck him, didn’t you?”

My eyes fall closed. I can’t even look at the disgust in his eyes anymore. From the looks of it, I sure led with the worse of two evils. I knew Wyatt would be angry, and I shouldn’t be surprised at the hurt on his face. Somehow, though, I am. My head feels stuffy, swollen, and it’s only now that I realize I’ve stopped breathing. I suck in a deep, shaky breath to balance myself out. I need to get a grip, or I’ll never get through this.

“When?”

I don’t catch the question until Wyatt has to repeat himself. This is different. He’s never been one for asking many questions.

“Not until Zander was three.” I force myself to open my eyes and meet his. I feel like this confession should somehow diffuse his anger, but it doesn’t. His grip on my face gets harder, so hard that it starts to hurt. I lock my jaw, forcing myself to deal with it. Old ladies don’t cry, and we sure as fuck don’t whine about stupid shit. I always try to represent my man, even when we’re not together, even when we haven’t seen each other in years. Even after this, I’ll still be Wyatt’s. Even though he won’t want me and he won’t be mine, I’ll never not belong to him. That’s what being voted in means, and for the millionth time since I ran from him, I’m grateful for it. I can’t imagine not being tied to Wyatt in some way.

“You stupid whore.” The words tumble out of his mouth with such raw pain that I can’t feel anything but sorrow. “We were together after that. You told me you’d never touched him.”

I lied
.

“It’s not—” I start but clamp up immediately. The words hang there, on the cliff of a confession that I refuse to make. I stare up at my man, watching his eyes glass over and his breathing slow. He doesn’t look so much angry now as he does hurt. I don’t expect this new Wyatt, don’t really know what to make of him. The old Wyatt would have flown off the handle and called it a day. He wouldn’t be standing here. He wouldn’t be trying. The realization that he has changed, at least in a few important ways, sends a ripple of emotion flying through me. I blink back the tears.

Wyatt opens his mouth to speak, but a loud noise startles him. He turns his face toward the house and freezes for a long moment. Then his hands drop to his sides, and he just stands there, the steel in his body disappears. I try to pull my eyes away from him, but I can’t. My man looks like he just found Jesus on toast or something miraculous like that. As big and tough as he is, in this moment he looks so vulnerable and broken.

“Don’t yell at my mom.” The too-deep-for-his-age angry voice of my son shouts from behind me. My stomach falls to my feet as my head whips around. I’ve been waiting for this moment for years. Zander’s been waiting his entire life. Fourteen years of hope and dreams and want have all been wrapped up in this moment. And now it’s happening, and he’s being his bossy teenage self. I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry. I never wanted Zander to meet his father like this—in the middle of a fight.

Wyatt takes a few steps toward the house, his eyes glued to Zander. His voice is faint but clear when he whispers, “My boy.”

He moves so quickly that before I know it, he’s rushed at Zander and has thrown his arms around our son. I’m left standing in the dirt, staring at the two of them, doing the best I can to hold back the tears. It’s useless. If my mom were here right now, I like to think she’d forgive me this weakness. All I can see from here are Zander’s gangly arms as they wrap around his dad for the first time in his entire life. Fuck. I can’t believe I let anything, even Wyatt’s addiction, keep them apart.

Just when I don’t think I could feel any lower, a high-pitched baby scream comes from inside the house.

Piper.

Crap.

Now is so not the time for her to make her grand entrance with her dad. I’ve already been here too long to have not told him about her, but the situation with Zander has really complicated things. Wyatt’s known about Zander—he’s already dealt with the blow from finding out that my boy is, for sure, his. Maybe it’s selfish, but I want my guys to have their time before I throw my toddler into the mix. I don’t get that luxury, though, because Zander pulls back from his dad and rushes toward the house. I chase after him, hoping like hell that my baby girl isn’t hurt. Zander flings the door open, when I’m just a few steps behind him. I can feel Wyatt standing right behind me, his blissed-out expression slides right back into that desperate sorrow he was sporting earlier.