“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Insuring myself before all hell breaks loose.”
“Why would all hell break loose?” Eden asked.
Trev shut the door and locked it. He then ripped off his leather cut and took off all of his holster, letting his gun fall to the floor. Eden saw something like rage in his eyes as he grabbed for her. Hands at her waist, he picked her up and put her on the table in the small kitchen. He had his body against hers, staring down at her.
“If you fuck with me or my club, I will have no choice but to kill you. I want that on the table right now.”
“I swear, I’m not fucking with anyone. I’m just trying to talk to my father.”
“He’s not here,” Trev said.
“What do you mean he’s not here?”
Eden saw something flash across Trev’s face.
Guilt? Worry?
Whatever it was, it didn’t fit on him well.
He touched her face, his thumb against her cheek. “Don’t leave this place. Don’t make my guys have to shoot you. I need to go talk to Miller right now.”
“Why? What’s happening?”
There was a second of hesitation and Trev then planted a kiss to Eden’s cheek.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered and then pulled away.
Eden got a handful of his t-shirt and tugged at him. When she did, his shirt lifted. She saw skin, muscle, ink. He was ripped along the side of his body, his oblique’s twisted into the rest of his stomach. It was jaw dropping muscle, chiseled and toned.
Trev grabbed her wrist. “Don’t fucking pull at me if you can’t handle what I’m going to do to you.”
“When is my father coming back?” she asked.
Trev broke Eden’s hold and walked to the door. He paused and looked back at her. “Let me figure this out and I’ll be back. Just know that I’m sorry.”
Trev opened the door and left.
“For what?” Eden called out.
She slithered off the table and hurried to the door. She tried to ignore the fact that her panties were damp. No man had ever gone after her like Trev did.
She put her ear to the door and listened…
__
six.
Trev touched his back pocket. He felt the picture.
What the fuck was Griffin doing with a pregnant Jenn?
Fucking Eden believed that Griffin was her father? And she had a picture of Griffin with a pregnant woman… a woman that was completely off limits. A woman that - for all Trev and everyone else knew - never had a baby.
“What’s going on, Trev?” one of the prospects asked.
Trev threw his hand out and grabbed the guy by the shirt. “Don’t fuck this up. Keep her in there. She can’t leave. She claims Griffin is her father and she wants to talk to him.”
“But she can’t talk…”
Trev put a hand over the prospects mouth. “Don’t fucking say a word. Both of you. Don’t talk to her. Don’t look at her. She opens that door, draw your weapons.”
“Yes, sir,” the other prospect said.
“I’ll be back in a few,” Trev said.
He looked back at the door. He could almost sense Eden standing at the door, listening.
Christ, if this was true, this poor woman just walked into a fire and was about to turn it into hell. Inside himself, Trev wondered if it wasn’t easiest to just get one of the prospects to take her out and cover it all up. Because the secret - if true - that Griffin had taken to his grave was still alive and well inside Jenn. She was a few hours away and best left right there.
But this could be bigger than that.
Had Griffin sent Eden a letter right before he was shot? Or did something else make that happen? Christ, why the hell would Griffin want to bring someone into this life? Maybe he didn’t. Well, obviously he didn’t, right? He and Jenn had Eden and then…
Trev froze at the door to the clubhouse. He tried to process it again.
Griffin and Jenn.
Then it started to come back to him.
“Fuck,” Trev whispered.
When Griffin was running outlaw. When he gave up the patch and was with The Lost Men for a little while. Trev remembered Griffin having something on the side. He wasn’t shy about his feeling of disgust for the Frelen charter, but he also didn’t hide his attempt to get into another charter.
“Another charter,” Trev whispered.
It was a lot for Trev to remember. It was a time when he was still so goddamn young. Barely eighteen and running with a wild outlaw crew. Looking up to a guy like Griffin, who was older, wiser, who had been patched in to a real MC and then gave it up. It was almost heroic.
He tore open the door and went into the clubhouse.
Blaine stood there, holding his son. “What’s happening, brother?”
Trev looked at Miller. “You and me. We need to talk right now.”
“Table?” Gaige asked.
“Just the three of us for now.”