“Van, and I am four-years-old.” His little hand came up to show him the four with his little fingers. I bit back a smirk.
“Wow,” he said. “That’s pretty old. I might need to start you working for me. Want to see under a car?”
Van’s eyes lit up. “I can do that?”
He looked back at me, for approval, and I nodded. I watched as the only man I’d ever crushed on, took my son’s hand in his and led him further into the garage. I took a seat by the window, watching as he interacted with the workers, who all revelled at having such a young kid marvel at what they did all day, and waited for my car to be done.
Truthfully, there was nothing wrong with it. I just needed to get out of the house.
“He’s safe with them if you need a break,” he said to me, once he’d come back in without Van. “I stuck him with one of the prospects. Might teach the kid to wrap it up when he’s with a woman.”
“Toddlers will definitely do that,” I said. “Thank you. I’m not much use when he asks me questions about cars. I know how to drive one, that’s about it.”
He nodded, appearing to blow me off, when I looked back out at my son holding a tool, while the man knelt beside him and showed him different things on the toolbox. He was going to be talking about this for weeks on end. At least it gave him something to obsess over.
I got up to go and grab one of their complimentary coffees, when I crashed right into a hard chest. He was right there. Standing over me, his eyes dark and unyielding.
“Sorry.”
His hand came up to brush my hair away from the side of my face. I knew what he was looking at. It’s why my hair was down today, even though the heat of Penrith was stifling.
“You want to give me the name of who put his hands on you?” he asked, his voice deep and dark.
“It’s nothing, I was…clumsy.”
That was the excuse my apparent husband used to tell people when he’d hit me to keep me quiet.
“I’ve heard that before,” he said, stepping back. “Said right before they return to their abusers and end up dying or with a needle out their arm to numb the pain.”
The thought was startling, and said to be mean. He thought I was protecting Hardy, and his abusive ways. I knew women did that, but it was out of fear, not because they loved the bastard.
“You can’t criticise me for my actions,” I said, angrily. “You’ve no idea what I do every day to protect my son, what I need to do to keep his father happy so I can…”
I almost outed myself. Almost. I couldn’t letanyoneknow my plans. Not even a Shackled Son. His expression lightened for a moment.
“If you need help, my club can protect you.”
“Not even you can protect me from them. My son is the only one I will ever bow down to.”
I made a move to go and grab Van. We could wait for the car across the street at the park, but he was too fast. He moved with purpose, before blocking me inside, turning me so my back was against the wall. He crowded me against it. I could smell his masculine cologne, wrapping around me like a vice.
“I remember you,” he grunted. “And I know you remember me, too.”
Fuck.
“I’m not that same girl you claim to remember,” I issued, quickly, but I knew he saw through it. His smirk was panty-melting.
“Maybe you are, little rabbit,” he said in my ear. “You never came back to the clubhouse.”
Because I found out I was pregnant.
“Nothing happened between us.”
“It could have,” he said, his breath on my ear, causing my pussy to throb, and my thighs to quiver.
“You were called away before anything could happen,” I said, even though I was sure I was just one woman of many he’d wanted in his bed that night.
“You could have stayed for me.”
