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It made my heart swell, and it made me realize just how lucky I was to have him in my life. The start to our relationship may have been unconventional, but it was real, and it was strong and growing stronger with every passing hour. I couldn’t help but smile, secure in the knowledge that I was right where I belonged.
We pulled into the compound at two in the afternoon of Christmas Eve. I’d had to stop once to puke, but Cyclone had held my hair back, much like he had in the hotel room. This time, however, when tears streamed from my eyes as I was sick beside the road repeatedly, I not only welcomed his touch, I took comfort in it. Still, I was really glad to be home.
When I got out of the truck, my mother was already running toward me to pull me into her arms.
“I’m so glad you’re home. We’ve got so much to talk about.”
I turned to look back toward the clubhouse just in time to see my dad stomp off the porch and straight toward Cyclone.
“Dad!” I called but he didn’t look in my direction. Instead, he moved faster and faster to Cyclone.
“Bloody hell…” Cyclone barely got out the words before my dad’s fist connected with his face. Once. Then again.
“Dad! Stop!”
I pulled away from my mom, hurrying over to the two hulking men. Cyclone wasn’t fighting back, but he was trying to block some of my dad’s blows. I think it was more instinctual rather than defensive.
“I said stop!” When I got to the pair, I jumped on my dad’s back, shoving my hands over his eyes.
“What the fuck? Willa, get off me!” He backed up several steps, his body tensing as if waiting for a blow.
“Dad, I said stop! Right the fuck now!” I put every ounce of authority I could into my voice, doing my best to sound like I’d heard my dad sound a few times when dressing down a prospect. Or someone who’d brought back a cage empty of gas and full of Red Bull cans. Surprisingly, it worked. Might have been that I was still on his back with my hands over his eyes.
“Willa…”
“No. I mean it, Dad. You’re not gonna beat up my man just because he knocked me up. Not when he’s my choice. No one gets to tell me I can’t have him except Cyclone. Not even you or Mom.”
“He took advantage of you, sweetheart.” When he tugged at my wrist, trying to get my hands off his eyes, I let him. Still didn’t climb down in case he got it into his head he was going to go after Cyclone again. “He’s probably using you now to hang on to his position in the club. Or his very life. Because I intend to bury that fucker.” Yeah. Dad was in Trucker mode. Which wasn’t a side he often showed to me or my brother and sisters.
“No, Dad. You’re not. You’re going to go to Mom and calm the fuck down. Then we’re all gonna sit down and talk about this like civilized fucking adults.” I winced. I was in so much trouble once this was over. I’d never spoken to my dad -- or anyone for that matter -- like I had to Dad and Ice. And it had to be two officers in the club. You know. In front of most of the club.
Yeah. Trouble.
“Stand down, Trucker.” Ice was leaning against one post on the front porch looking all casual. Like he didn’t have a fucking care in the world.
“Big help there, Ice.” I gave him a heated look, like I was ready to carve out his liver.
“Hey. Don’t look at me. He’s a big motherfucker.”
“Yes! He is! And I’m five foot nothing and a hundred pounds! And fucking pregnant!” I was losing my patience, my temper redlining. Again.
“Brother, I sure hope this is all pregnancy hormones, ‘cause if it ain’t, you’ve got your hands full.”
“Watch it, Ice.” Dawn, Ice’s woman, watched on with amusement, but she gave her man a sidelong glance. “She’s gonna be our sister. Do you really want to get on her bad side this early in the game?”
“Point taken, baby.”
Cyclone just grinned, even as he spat out a mouthful of blood. “Oh, she read me the Riot Act a couple of times after I got to North Carolina.” Cyclone was understandably winded but somehow still on his feet. I’d stopped Trucker from hurting him too much, but my dad could pack quite a punch. “She ain’t the shrinking violet everyone always thought she was.”
“Of course, I’m not,” I snapped, glaring at Cyclone. I couldn’t help it. Even in the midst of a beating, he was having fun at my expense. “I’m the daughter of the road captain of Bones MC. I can make up my own fucking mind about who I’m gonna fucking fuck. No one gets to make that decision for me. Not Cyclone. Not Trucker. Me!”
That got everyone’s attention. Unfortunately, more than one of the members of Bones were smothering grins. I was about to let loose on some motherfuckers. And where the fuck did that thought come from? I was sweet, Goddamnit!
Thank fuck Shadow’s woman, Millie, stepped forward and laid a hand on Trucker’s shoulder. “She’s right, you know.” Her Russian accent was somehow soothing on my frayed nerves. “Have you heard her side of story, Trucker?”
“No.” Dad sounded and looked wary as he glanced at me over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “I haven’t. But I heard his side.” He pointed to Cyclone. “He admitted she was drunk when he… err… when they… uh…”
“Did the nasty? The hunka chunka? The horizontal tango?”
