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“Life gives you shit,” I join in, smiling a real smile for the first time in forever.
“A-fucking-men,” Dad mutters with a sigh.
“What drew you to M-mom?” I ask because I don’t think I’ve ever taken the time to ask him before. I just knew there was so much love between them that I assumed it had always been there.
I watch as Dad’s face transforms, as it often does when he talks about Mom. It’s the weirdest fucking thing to watch this man who is hard as nails to the outside world transform with just the thought of Mom, but he does every single time.
“She has fire in spades, T. I wanted her from the beginning, but it wasn’t until she kneed me in the balls that I knew I was going to keep her.”
I laugh. “Mom did that?”
“Fuckin’ A. Right in the middle of the Wolves Den. Crush was with me. The son of a bitch still laughs his ass off. It didn’t matter to her what patch I wore, or the power I held. She let me have it, and to be honest, I deserved it. Still, that’s when I knew she was special, that she could not only handle me, but handle the club life, too.”
“Dad—”
“You need a woman with fire, T. You’re quieter than your brother,” he adds, and I drop my head down. I’m nothing like Dom and I’m quieter because I can’t make my damn words come out like they sound in my head. “Stop T. I’m not talking about your speech. No one who matters cares about that shit, and I told you what to do if anyone said one fucking thing to you about it, didn’t I?”
“Yeah,” I murmur, although if I did what he told me to do every time someone laughed or talked about my stutter, I’d have spent my life in juvenile centers and jails.
“I mean, you think shit through. You don’t let emotions lead you. That’s a damn good quality to have.”
“I di-di-didn’t exactly think this through,” I admit, and Dad gives me a smirk.
“I will say that when you fuck up, T, you do it really good,” he replies, but he does it without anger, which helps take the sting out of the regret I feel for dragging Dad and the club into this shit.
“Damn it, Lyla! What are you doing? You’re going to get us all killed,” Grunt growls from outside.
“Lyla?” Dad repeats, but I’m already in action, headed toward the door. I open it up to see Lyla standing in front of the door, facing Grunt. The minute I get the door opened, however, she turns to look at me.
“I came to see my old man,” she says and while she sounds completely sure, she sounds like she’s trying to swallow nails when she says it.
Damn.
Chapter 5
Lyla
I keep my back straight and my hands in my pants pocket. If I didn’t, I might crumble. The urge to wring my hands is strong, but I don’t want Thomas to realize how nervous I am. My father is going to be fit to be tied when he discovers I slipped out this morning. He even went so far as to put a guard on me. Pregnant women shouldn’t be sneaking out of their bedroom window. It wasn’t fun, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I’m just thankful Dad moved me to the downstairs guest bedroom when he found out I was pregnant. He wanted me to have the comforts of an ensuite bathroom and a bigger bedroom for me and the baby.
“Sunflower? Wh-what are you doing here?” Thomas asks.
I know I shouldn’t. I really do, but I’ve always been someone who acts first and thinks later. My entire relationship with Thomas is proof of that. So, I do as my dad taught me. He always told me that a man expects a woman to kick him in the balls. That’s why the shot is blocked all too easily. The trick for getting the better of a man when you’re smaller is to do something unexpected.
First, I scream—and with as much pent-up hostility as I’ve got against Thomas right now, I’d be surprised if my father couldn’t hear me inside the clubhouse, which was a good sixty miles away. Next, before the scream even dies on my lips, I curl my hand in a fist, draw it back and then throat punch Thomas for all I’m worth.
“Holy fuck,” an older guy growls from just behind Thomas. I didn’t see him, but I don’t care. I’m taking too much satisfaction in the fact that Thomas is grabbing his throat and stumbling backwards. Now would be the time to kick him in the balls, but I don’t. Instead, I yell at him—but it’s not nearly as satisfying.
“I told you to never call me that again!” I growl, which is immensely satisfying, even if my voice is a little wobbly from screaming moments earlier.
