Page 72 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

“Owen!” Sadie calls out, rushing over with a horrified expression on her face.

“Daddy says that Brielle’s red dress is her whore dress,” he explains, which does nothing to help things.

“Don’t use that word, it’s nasty,” she says, glancing from Owen to the club bunny.

Brandy, the club bunny, seems unfazed by the interaction as she wanders off, but Owen looks thoroughly confused by our reaction. As for me, I’m more concerned about what other things he’s heard his father say.

“Oh God,” Sadie groans as she sits back down beside me a few minutes later.

I watch Owen for a moment before looking back at her. The feeling that settles in my chest isn’t anger, at least not yet. It is something quieter than that and considerably more dangerous. Anger burns hot and fast, but concern lingers. Concern has a habit of making you act.

I push back my chair and stand.

“Chief,” Sadie says, her voice low and warning, as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“I just want to talk to him.”

The concern in her eyes deepens. “Don’t start a fight.”

That almost makes me laugh. “If I was planning to start a fight, I wouldn’t tell you where I was going.”

The smallest smile tugs at her mouth. It’s enough.

***

An hour later, I’m standing outside Ethan’s house. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it looks like a regular suburban family home with a wraparound porch.

Ethan answers on the third knock. The look on his face darkens, letting me know he’s aware exactly who I am. “Let me guess, you’re one of the Wild Riders my wife’s been shacking up with.” He spits our club name out with obvious distaste.

I ignore the insult, for now, and I don’t bother to correct him that Sadie isn’t his wife, not anymore, he made sure of that when he decided to sleep with his secretary. “We need to talk.”

For a second, I think he might slam the door in my face. Eventually, he steps aside and heads through to the living room. I follow. He drops into an armchair and folds his arms while I remain standing. The choice is deliberate. People are often more honest when they’re uncomfortable.

“What do you want?” Ethan asks sullenly, like a teenager who’s been called in to see the principal.

“Sadie says you’ve been calling her a lot.”

His jaw tightens. “She’s my wife.”

This time, I can’t resist correcting him. “Ex. She’s your ex-wife.”

The correction lands exactly where I intended it to. His expression hardens. “You bikers really don’t know when to stay out of other people’s business.”

“If somebody is threatening a woman under my protection, it becomes my business.”

His eyes narrow. “Oh, and there it is. I can’t believe Sadie is stupid enough to fall for this whole white knight routine.” The bitterness in his voice is impossible to miss. In my experience, bitterness often stems from jealousy. “I see through your act, even if Sadie is too naive to.”

Again, I force myself to remain focused, not to lose my cool, and not to get dragged down into debating Sadie’s relationship with us. I’m glad Trigger isn’t here, he’d have punched the guy’s teeth out by now. “I’m going to ask you a question,” I say calmly. “I want an honest answer.”

He laughs. “Good luck with that.”

“Did you leave the notes?”

For the first time since I arrived, he looks genuinely surprised. His reaction is fast enough to make me reconsider, not entirely, but enough to give me pause.

“What?”

“The notes Sadie has been receiving.”