And then so do I.
I think I’ve waited long enough to avoid seeing him when I waddle out, but I haven’t. To the left of the front door, leaning against the wall with his hands laced behind his head, is Wyatt. He’s staring into the hall absently. It’s obvious because when he sees me, his eyes flicker to life and his shoulders straighten. I don’t have a choice but to pass him on my way out. I make my way slowly down the hall, desperately wanting to move my eyes from his but unable to. A loud man stumbles down the hall and bumps into me. I’m pushed into the wall. I right myself quickly and keep going. I have to swallow the lump in my throat and force one foot in front of the other. And still, my eyes don’t leave his.
It isn’t until I’m just a few feet away that we break eye contact. He looks down and smirks at his feet. My eyes follow his to find the same woman who made the snotty comment to me on my way in on her knees. She’s unbuckling Wyatt’s belt and staring up at him like he’s a god or something. It’s the same look I used to give him. My steps falter. I’m just a few feet from the door, but I can’t make myself move. After his belt, she goes for his zipper. She reaches into his boxers, but he—with his eyes still on her—shakes his head and says, “Down.”
Wyatt’s dick—my dick—springs free as she pulls his boxers down. I don’t see what her tongue is doing. I don’t see anything except for the tattoo above his dick that says my name—a declaration of a forever that’s never going to happen.
Because this is the end of us.
CHAPTER 1
August 2015
8 months to Mancuso’s downfall
My stomach rolls as I sit in the passenger seat of my own freaking vehicle. My ass hurts from the long-ass drive out here from Detroit, but it’s the handcuffs that link my right wrist to the door handle that bug me the most. I’ve pulled at them, tried to pick the lock with a bobby pin, and jiggled the fucking things since Diesel slapped ‘em on me. Not that I thought my attempts would do any good. They’re the same cuffs the cops use, not the soft type you use for sex. Not that I know much of anything about sex these days.
“Is this really necessary?”
Diesel doesn’t even look my way before he says, “Yes.” I huff, but his jaw ticks and he opens his mouth to speak before I can. “Your boy safe?”
“Yes.”
My kids are with my dad and Elle at his house a few miles outside of Fort Bragg. The only reason he’s even home is because I told him we were coming in and needed a place to crash. God only knows where he was when we talked. I’m not even sure why the man keeps that house since he’s never there.
“Then yeah,” Diesel says.
“Something you need to learn—my word is my law. I mean what I say and I say what I mean. I told you I’d face Wyatt, so I am. The cuffs aren’t necessary.”
He’s quiet for a long time, ignoring me like he didn’t even hear me. He pulls us onto Main Street, and we drive for a few blocks before things become more familiar. This place was my home once. I knew it well. Detroit doesn’t feel much like home anymore—hasn’t for a damn long time—but this doesn’t feel like home either. The only place I really feel at home is with my kids.
In the distance, I see the Forsaken Custom Cycle sign. It’s old and faded and doesn’t do much to advertise for the business. Not that the guys do much with the business aside from their own repairs and the occasional upgrade for a local. I steel myself for the sinking feeling in my gut, but it never comes. Instead, a sort of dead weight settles in my belly, telling me that this is much worse than I think it is. I made my choices, and now I have to live with them.
Fuck.
“Looks like you’re gonna puke.” His voice is void of any judgment, but he’s going somewhere with this, I can tell.