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When the idea pops into my head, I nearly bark with laughter at the irony. “It’s club business.”
Oh, damn, did that feel good to use.Never thought a day would come when those words would make me happy.
“Pardon?”
“It’s club business,” I repeat, shrugging my shoulders. “Mercy Ravens don’t allow non-members to be involved in their business. That includes the old ladies of the MC too. Doesn’t matter that I’m married to Maceo. No one but the crew knows the assignments or jobs. Maceo was very traditional in what roles a man and woman take on in a relationship. He didn’t share club business with me. He claimed it was to keep me safe.”
All lies, except the last part—Maceo did believe the less I knew, the safer I was. Doesn’t matter as long as Esteban buys it.
“Huh,” Esteban mutters, frowning. “The one time I wish he’d be a feminist, he does exactly as I’d want him to do under any other circumstance. Guess I should be proud he has the sense to keep his wife in her place when it comes to business.”
Why you asshole… Nope, don’t lose it, Jo. Let him think what he wants—you want him to believe that bullshit.
Esteban gets up from his chair and paces the length of the room, running a hand down his face. The visual is not lost on me. The mannerisms between him and Maceo are chillingly uncanny. It sends a flare of annoyance through me.
Esteban catches me staring at him and stops in place. “Yes?”
It’s never good when he catches someone looking at him. I bite my bottom lip. “Maceo does the same thing—paces when he’s thinking.”
My confession has the bastard smiling like I handed him the sun. “Does he?! Like father, like son, no?”
He’s nothing like you in all the ways that matter.
Esteban chuckles to himself. “When he comes home, I hope to learn what other similarities we have in common.”
The hell he will.
My disapproval must not be hidden well enough because Esteban returns to glowering. “He will accept his place at my side and learn the ways of our world. If he wants to see you and the children, he’ll cooperate.”
“There may not be much left of your Argentinean coca crops by the time he gets here,” I mumble.
“You may be right.”
Afraid he might lash out, my arms immediately cradle my belly with the only thing I have to protect the babies.
Esteban sees my reaction and sighs. “You spoke the truth, Josefina. I won’t punish you. Besides, it’s not my place, but my son’s.”
Maceo doesn’t abuse or find joy in hurting women. It’s one glaring difference between the two men.
“Perhaps it’s time to reach out to the boy,” Esteban mutters before eyeing me up and down. “Yes, I think a video call would do him wonders in reminding him where his place is.”
