Page 18 of Riding Bare

Dropping my hand, I leave the ultrasound and watch as it begins to fall to the ground. Amos doesn’t let that happen. He catches it, then flicks his gaze down at the little black-and-white flimsy paper before he opens his cut and shoves it into one of the inner pockets.

“Come on,” he demands in a growl.

He turns his back to me and walks away. I follow behind him, because not only do I have nowhere else to go, but he’s got my car keys. I bite back the tears, my entire body ready to curl into a ball and cry.

Amos is already in the car, and it’s running by the time I arrive at the passenger door. Tugging it open, I sink down into the seat, buckle in, and stare out the windshield, waiting for him to drive. It’s taking everything inside me not to burst into tears right now.

I wait for him to shift the car into Reverse and hear my tires squeal out of the parking lot, but it doesn’t happen. In fact, nothing happens. I feel his attention focused on my profile, and slowly, I turn my head to face him.

His eyes are a more vibrant green right now rather than the lighter brown. I’m not really sure what that means, but I’m also not sure I care to know. I’ve heard all I need to hear at this point from him.

But I still watch and wait.

“It has nothing to do with the fact that you’re carrying someone else’s baby,” he states.

I open my mouth to tell him to fuck right off. He already showed me his true colors, and I don’t need to know anything else. But then he continues. And I snap my lips shut, listening to him finish speaking, even if it’s against my will.

“And I didn’t think about it until she said what the baby is. A boy. Immediately, it slammed into me. I instantaneously knew that there was going to be a fucking problem.”

He doesn’t say anything more. There’s another long pause of silence before I decide to speak. But I can only muster two words.

Two simple ones.

“A problem?” I finally ask.

“That Russian is going to start a war once he finds out he’s got a son. There is no way in fuck he’ll just let that go.”

Placing my hand against my belly, I gasp at his words. He can’t be serious with me right now. I want to reach back and slap him across the face, and before I realize what’s happening, that’s exactly what I do. It’s like an out-of-body experience. I lift my hand and, palm flat, I slap his cheek.

Amos’s head swings to the side before he slowly turns to face me. I brace for impact, knowing exactly what I’ve done and that he can return that gesture right back to me. He doesn’t.

Instead, he lifts his hand, and when I flinch, he shakes his head once. I feel his palm slide across my jaw, but I don’t even look into his eyes. I can’t.

“Look at me,” he demands.

I force myself to lift my gaze to meet his. I expect to see untamed anger roaring beneath the surface of his gaze, but it’s not there. His eyes hold none of that. He seems almost calm, relaxed, and maybe he finds this funny.

“I deserved that,” he murmurs. “But never again, sweetheart. I won’t ever use my hands on you in anger, and I expect the same. You do it again, it’s gonna be a problem.”

I dip my chin in a single nod. I don’t apologize, though, because he did deserve it. And I’m not sorry for it. There are other ways to handle something like that, and embarrassing me and making me feel the way he did wasn’t the right way.

“This is serious, and I have to prepare myself to protect you, both of you. Because he will be coming for this baby when he finds out it’s a boy. You can fucking count on that.”

His hand falls from my face. He turns to face the windshield, then shifts the car into Reverse and backs out of the spot, heading out of the parking lot. I don’t pay attention to where he’s going.

Tipping my head down, I look at my fingers twisting in my lap, and I wonder what the hell is going to happen. I hope like hell I can weather the storm, whatever it is that’s coming my way.

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

DARE

I want to head directly to the clubhouse and lock this woman in my room until she has this baby, and then until said baby turns about eighteen. If it could be that easy, that’s exactly what I would do. But it isn’t and I can’t.

Driving straight for a breakfast spot, I pull into the parking lot, shift the car into Park, kill the engine, and unfold from the front seat. I walk around the front of the car to help her out, but she’s already standing with the door closed.

She’s still pissed.