“Shit,” Jack muttered, pushing off the floor. “Hate to be the one who’s gotta clean this mess,” he commented staring down at what was left of Boots.
I lifted my hand to my cheek, brought it back down and stared at the blood that covered my hands.
This one’s for Lace.
“C’mon let’s get the fuck out of here, before we’re the two assholes cleaning this shit up,” I said, shoving my gun into the waistband of my jeans and handing him over the other gun.
“Keep it,” he said, stepping over Boots and following me out of the clubhouse. Once we were outside, he leaned against his bike and pulled out his pack of Marlboros.
“That was fun,” he said with a smirk, shoving the cigarette between his lips and reaching for his lighter. “But fuck, I’m getting too old for the Cowboys and Indians shit.” He lit his cigarette, and I grabbed a rag from my saddlebags and wiped the blood from my face.
Silence fell over us as I wiped my hands on the rag and pinned him with a stare.
“Let’s get it over with,” I started, watching as he arched one eyebrow and took a drag of cigarette. “You get one shot, right here, right now,” I said, taking two strides towards him. “Make it good because it’s all you’re going to get.”
“You think taking a swing at you will make things right between us?” He questioned, blowing out a ring of smoke before laughing in my face and shaking his head.
“So what do you want from me? You want me to apologize to you? I can’t and more importantly I won’t do that because apologizing would mean I regret it and I don’t.”
He growled or grunted, I couldn’t be sure but some animalistic sound escaped his mouth as he glared at me.
“Why her?”
“Why not?”
“Really?” He questioned before he fell silent for a moment. “She’s my daughter,” he seethed.
“I know that,” I said. “And I love her.”
“Ah, fucking hell,” he muttered, turning his cheek to me. I reached out and flicked the cigarette out of his mouth.
That got his attention.
“Quit that shit,” I hissed. “You want to walk your girl down the aisle don’t you? Stick around and see your grandchildren, no?”
“Grandchildren,” he repeated, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t knock you out I should shoot your ass.”
“You could do that,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets as I shrugged my shoulders. “But then you’d have to tell Lacey you shot the man she loves.”
“Come on, enough with that word!”
I bit the side of my cheek and tried not to smile.
He crossed his arms against his chest and kept his eyes trained on his boots for a moment.
“She’s not like us, you know, she’s fragile.”
“She’s stronger than you know,” I assured him
“You really love her don’t you?”
“I do.”
He nodded then straddled his bike and gripped the handlebars tightly.
“You better treat her good,” he said hoarsely.
“I will,” I paused, before extending my hand, still speckled with Boots blood. “You have my word.”
He looked at my hand before gripping it and his eyes met mine.
“Your word is gold, Black.”
And just like that Jack Parrish handed me the thing he cherished most in this world…he gave me his daughter’s life and told me to take care of it as my own.
It was time to tell Lacey who she belonged to.
Girl, I’m coming for you.
Chapter Forty-two
I yawned for what seemed like the twentieth time in five minutes and glanced across the living room at Reina, who was sprawled out on the couch eating saltine crackers and sipping on ginger ale.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I questioned as I placed my hands on my knees and stood up.
“Fine, it’ll pass,” she insisted.
“Well, if you’re sure, then I will head out. I’m exhausted,” I declared, rising to my feet.
She shot up like a jack-in-the-box, nearly spilling the ginger ale all over herself as she scrambled to her feet and made a beeline for the bathroom.
So much for calling it an early night.
I followed her into the bathroom and watched as she dropped to her knees and hurled into the toilet. I bent over her, scooping up her hair and held it back as she continued to empty the contents of her stomach.
“Damn, Reina, what the hell did you eat? Maybe we should take you to the hospital, you might have food poisoning,” I rambled, turning my head I felt nauseous just watching her.
“It’s not food poisoning,” she muttered, leaning back and taking a deep breath before she reached over and flushed the toilet. I helped her to her feet and stood behind her as she turned the faucet on and brushed her teeth.
“If it’s not food poisoning what—oh my god!” I stared at her wide-eyed through the mirror.
“Yeah,” she confirmed, with a mouthful of toothpaste.
I grinned as she spit into the sink and wiped her mouth.
“I’m pregnant,” she confirmed, before a smile spread across her pale face. “That’s the first time I said it out loud.”