Page 14 of April 5

When it came to Katrina, he acted first and thought later. She was his heart. He needed her more than life, and it was hell living without her.

He only had himself to blame. He let her depend on him. He even encouraged her. That's what Ruger had wanted him to do. But it all changed as she got older.

He'd started the Seaglass Cove Chapter to get away from Katrina. If they ever ran into each other again, he hoped that whatever kept him tied to her would disappear. As much as he hated the thought of her falling in love with someone else, it would've been easier if she'd walked away from him.

Katrina came out of the bathroom naked and grabbed her bag. "That was low, even for you, Jagger. You can't have me and then turn around and be an asshole."

They had no time to discuss what was happening between them. He'd told her to stay away from him, and she showed up in Seaglass Cove. She had to know what would happen. He had no control around her.

"Get your ass in gear." He slid his pistol into his inner vest pocket. "Ruger could show up at any time."

She shoved her arm through her shirt. "I'm so sick of hearing about my dad."

"I'm sworn to the patch." He ogled her body as she pulled on a pair of panties and grabbed her jeans. "I'm the president of—"

"Whatever."

"Katrina." He exhaled harshly. "We've had this argument before."

She shoved her feet in a pair of Chucks. "It's bullshit."

"Watch your mouth."

She flung her wet hair over her shoulder, picked up her duffle, and swung it in front of her, trying to hit him. He stepped back. She could be pissed all she wanted, and nothing would change until Ruger permitted him to have a relationship with Katrina.

The last time Ruger caught him with his hands on Katrina, he crawled away with a broken shoulder and bruised kidneys. There wouldn't be a next time because Ruger would kill him instantly—and the club would support Ruger because it was written in the bylaws.

His only hope was that once Katrina became an age where Ruger believed she could make mature decisions, he'd let her lead her life the way she chooses.

Of course, by then, he'd probably be dead.

She swung the bag again, hitting him on the shoulder. He could see her spiraling. The benefits of having her grow up within the club meant she knew how to protect herself and there were hundreds of men ready to defend her. But the drawback was she picked up a biker's lifestyle too easily.

Her temper often went from zero to a hundred in the blink of an eye. She had a dirty mouth that could scar a man. While living around Havlin members, she'd learned to punch, kick, and stab.

She was tough.

But underneath that hard exterior she'd built, she was soft. She was his. And he'd never change her because to him, she was perfect.

Wild and loyal, and a little crazy.

He walked to the door and cracked it open. The hallway was clear. He motioned for her to leave.

She walked toward him, barely keeping her chin from trembling. He stopped her before she could slip past him.

Holding on to her wrist, he forced himself to send her away. "Take care of yourself, Katrina."

"I hate you." The words barely got beyond her clamped lips.

"No, you don't."

"I do." A tear slid down her cheek.

He caught it with the pad of his thumb. "Damnit, don't cry."

Katrina lashed out, swinging her arms. He took the pounding. He deserved every ounce of pain he'd caused her.

He knew when she was thirteen years old and infatuated with him that he should've sent her away.

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