Page 67 of Maverick

“Nah. Authorities are asking for details from anyone who encountered him in the days before he disappeared, but otherwise they haven’t said anything concrete.”

That wasn’t at all what I wanted to hear. It was more important than ever that I found that asshole and got him to give up his claim to my girls or end him permanently.

Since movie night, something had changed with Grace. She was more attentive and affectionate, she was present in a way that let me know she was mine. The only thing that stopped her was Trent, I knew that. She never said the words, and I didn’t think she would until she was totally free of him, which meant I needed to do better.

To be better.

For her and for Sophie.

“It’s unreal that it’s been three weeks since we’ve seen him or heard from him, but he hasn’t popped up anywhere. The good news is that I think that helps me narrow down his location,” Slate said.

“Yeah?” That was good news.

“There’s a small pocket just off the Old Strip where the cameras are limited. It’s pretty much a throwback and it’s only a few square blocks.”

I turned to Diesel and Rocky. “We’re going. Right?”

“We are,” Diesel confirmed, and my shoulders relaxed. “But you’re not.”

“What the fuck?”

“He’s right,” Rocky said in a calm, placating voice. “We can’t risk you flying off the handle, no matter how much the fucker deserves it. We have a plan, and it requires you to stay here at the clubhouse. Bring your girls here and look after the women.”

“Like a goddamned prospect?”

“No,” Diesel roared. “Like a member of this MC willing to do whatever the fuck he’s asked.”

“Yeah, fine. I’ll be back.” I was pissed off but willing to do my part, even if it did cut me off at the balls.

Chapter 34

Grace

How the hell was this my life now? I looked around the clubhouse filled with bikers, their women and children, and even the so-called club whores, and then there was me. I wasn’t a biker, a biker’s woman, or anything else, yet I sat at a table inside their private clubhouse as if I belonged. It was clear to me—and everyone else—that I didn’t belong, because I sat alone and watched these people who were a family.

And if being alone in a room full of people wasn’t enough, I turned towards the bar where Maverick talked with Rebel and Slate in what looked to be a serious conversation. It was interrupted by a bleached blonde with humongous tits barely covered by a tiny white tee that made it clear for all to see that they didn’t require a bra. Her slim midsection was on full display along with the rest of her curves in painted-on blue jeans. Basically, she was every man’s wet dream, and she was wrapping herself around Maverick.

Of course.

I ignored the white-hot stab of jealousy that pierced my skin like thousands of needles. He barely paid her any mind, but my jealous heart didn’t want to focus on that, oh no, it was determined to focus on the persistent woman who was blonde and beautiful. And clearly willing. No, not willing, she was eager. I turned away because I couldn’t stand the thoughts that ran through my mind, thoughts that should’ve reminded me exactly why staying with Maverick was a bad idea.

Not only had my little girl fallen for him, but so had I, if my reaction to the flirtatious blonde was any indication. And worse, I knew what came next because I’d already lived it.

Trent thought I didn’t know about all of his affairs, but I knew about enough of them. I just stopped caring about the late-night phone calls, the pretend work meetings after hours and on weekends. He’d found someone—or many different someones—who were younger and blonder, with tits that hadn’t nursed an infant and a stomach that hadn’t been stretched to its absolute breaking point during forty long weeks of pregnancy.

It's only a matter of time, I reminded myself, and gave myself permission to look at them one final time, to sear the image into my mind so I could recall it the next time I started thinking about fairytales and forever after with him.

“You can’t let the bunnies bother you.”

I blinked and turned to see a smiling redhead with a baby strapped to her chest.

“The bunnies?” I asked.

“She means the club whores,” the brown-haired woman beside her said with a grin.

“I’m Peyton, and this is Lisa,” the redhead said, and offered her hand. “Rocky’s my man.” She pointed to the man with the salt-and-pepper hair near the bar talking to a younger man who looked remarkably similar. “The younger version of him holding the baby is Nolo, my stepson and my best friend’s husband.”

“Okay. Wow.” I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing.

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