Page 12 of Slicer

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I hung up on her before blocking her number and my father's.

How dare they? How fricking dare they!

I'm mad. I'm so fricking mad.

Mr. Andrews has kept in touch since I left, so I know Abram's marriage already failed after his chosen wife cheated on him and had another man's child, which was frowned upon, so she was cast out. Only men dare to cheat and have offspring with someone else; we females must be meek and content no matter what the men do. We should feel grateful that they chose us as wives instead of their mistresses.

A bunch of fricking hypocrites—that's what they all are; it's disgusting.

My uncle actually had a wife as young as eight; it's revolting and not something I want my child to be a part of, and it's something Child Protective Services has been looking into.

Shaking my head, I climb out of my car before rushing towards the entrance of my building. I'll admit, it's not the safest part of town, but it was cheap, and I needed all the money I could spare for childcare. I will not let my daughter down; I'll show her we don't need men to take care of her unless it's her daddy wanting to protect her, and if the feelings I had about him that night were true, he'd protect her with his life. I get to my door, which is on the ground floor, and head inside. The small, light gray living area comes into view, and Izzy, the 20-year-old childminder I hired who's trying to get her business in child care up andrunning, smiles at me from my black, torn sofa, and I smile back as she stands to gather her things.

"Lilah is down for her nap; it's only been about ten minutes, so you have time for a quick shower."

I smile at her, passing over $50 for her time. "Thank you; I really appreciate it."

"Of course, Lilah is an easy baby, always so happy."

I smile back as she walks out the door, which I lock immediately before heading down the small hallway. There are two doors, one to the small bathroom and another to the master room, which is just shy bigger than the living area. I open the cream door and sneak in before looking down in the princess cot bed at my gorgeous little girl, her curly brown hair spread on her pillow. It's just past her chin in length and so much like her father's, as well as her hazel eyes.

She reminds me of him every single day.

I named her after my grandmother, while her middle name, Rose, is in honor of her father, Noah, and his family. He had a rose tattoo that covered his right hand, and I smile as the memory of him explaining it to me comes to mind.

We're sitting up in bed, and I'm leaning my back against his muscled chest. I can feel the slight chest hair he has brushed against my skin every time he moves, causing goosebumps on my skin. His fingers are linked through mine, and his legs are on either side of me. This man, I swear, does something to me. He makes my heart race every time our eyes connect and a spark ignites; it's like we're supposed to be like he was always meant to be mine and I his.

I've never felt anything like this before, and I only met him a mere few hours ago.

I lean into him more when I notice the rose that takes over his whole right hand, and I let go of his left to trace it with my finger.

I feel him smile against my neck, where his face is, while his hand I just let go of glides over my flat stomach as he rasps.

"For my mother. Her name is Rose, and she's like one too, full of grace and beauty but prickly when pissed." I giggle at his description, and I feel his smile go wider as his lips trace my neck. "Just don't go telling her; I said that she'd kill me." I giggle some more, this man.

He moves his left hand from my stomach and places it against my jaw, moving my head to turn to him, his hazel eyes sparkling when our eyes make contact, and I think at this moment I realize what love feels like, which is absolutely ridiculous considering we just met and in my world, love doesn't even exist.

He leans forward, and our lips meet, making me sigh into his mouth.

Lilah moves in her sleep, bringing me back, and I gently run my fingers through her hair. I feel so much guilt about missing these important moments with her when I'm at school or work, but I know I need a good-paying job to support her as she grows, and I want her to be proud of me for giving her a better life than I had. I bend down and lightly kiss her head before leaving the room, heading to the bathroom for my quick shower before she wakes, and we spend the evening watching Disney princesses.

I quickly undress before turning on the water and waiting for it to heat up before climbing in. I dip my head under the water, Noah's eyes popping into my head. I haven't dated, and I hadn't wanted to; he's all I see, especially with our daughterbeing his doppelganger. He stole my heart that night, and I just wish I hadn't listened to Cindy when she told me he didn't do relationships. I should have known I was different because, together, we were different, like we were one.

I wipe away the tear that's fallen. So far, I've called eight MCs, and none of them have heard of a Noah and they all refused to tell me who they affiliate with. It's hard; being a single mother is hard; school is hard; but most importantly, living without my heart is hard.

Sighing, I quickly wash my hair and body before getting out and wrapping a towel around my body. I wipe the mirror that's fogged up, my right wrist catching my attention. It's the wrist I always wore the gold bracelet my grandmother gave me when I was eight. She said it was for courage against my family's way of life. I never took it off until that night with Noah; it had fallen off at some point, and I couldn't go back without raising suspicion. It had my name engraved on it, so if the owner of the inn and my father's old mistress had found it, then I would have heard via a lecture from my parents. That doesn't mean I don't feel guilty for losing it or for not having it with me. When I realized it was gone, I felt my courage disappear, which I know sounds pathetic, but that bracelet was the courage from my grandmother I always carried with me.

I slowly trace my finger along the letters on my right wrist, going sideways across it, I'd gotten them tattooed on my 25thbirthday as my new courage.


Am I an idiot for branding his name to me when he's most likely settled down and most probably has a wife and kids, and,crap, I bend as pain shoots through me, my breathing becoming shallow. I know it's a possibility, but the pain never lessens.

I take a deep breath before drying myself and getting into some gray sweats and Noah’s black t-shirt that I may or may not have stolen out of his bag like a creep, and head to the living area after checking on Lilah one more time. She'll be up in the next twenty minutes, so I have just enough time to call the Huntsmen MC in Washington. I take a deep breath before bringing up the number a guy in my class had given me—he's hoping to become a prospect and still be able to go into residency with them.

It rings three times before a gruff voice answers,

"This is Steel."

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