Page 42 of Savage Heart

“I get it. You can at least prepare, right? Get your life right so that once Liz lets you get in there, you can move forward.”

Trouble cocked his head. “You mean like child proofing my shit?” His suite in the clubhouse was really more of a crash pad…one he’d lived in since they’d bought the building and renovated it eight years ago. Didn’t kids need space…and grass? Well, he did have that house he bought and remodeled with the intent to sell for a profit….

Fuck. Things were getting more complicated—but he was there for it, especially if it meant Liz and Erika would have a safe place to live. With him. Together. As a family.

Fang chuckled and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “Nah, brother, though child proofing is probably smart, though how much child proofing do you really need for a nine-year-old?” he said, smirking. “I meantclean house.”

Letting his gaze flick from Fang to the direction he was pointing, Trouble cursed when he saw Amelia sauntering toward the booth. It was clear from the way she was dressed—shorts so short her ass cheeks were hanging out, and a top so skimpy it was basically two napkins over her nipples—she was on a mission of seduction, but there was a level of determination in her eyes he didn’t like.

What the fuck is she thinking?

Amelia didn’t even stop once she reached him, instead, she slid right onto his lap like she belonged there.

Stiffening at her actions and her audacity, Trouble growled, “What the fuck, Amelia?”

She turned toward him, pouting, her fake eyelashes flapping like two sides of a centipede.

“I’ve missed you this week, baby. You haven’t come to me…and I know you need me,” she purred, leaning in to try and plant a kiss on his lips.

What the fucking fuck?

He reeled back, glaring at her.

“Not right now, Amelia. You know better than to approach a brother while he’s sitting in this booth, and you fucking know you don’t touch a brother unless you’re given permission.” He pried her fingers from where they were clutching at his kutte, and forced them into her lap.

She laughed. “That’s never been a rule between us, baby. I touch you all the time, and you touch me.” She tried to pull her hands from his tightening grip, and when she couldn’t, her coy expression dropped. “What’s wrong, Trouble? You look tense. Why don’t we go upstairs, and I help you relax like I always do.”

From across the table, Fang snorted. Trouble flicked his gaze to the man and saw the look of disdain on his face. Fang, the fuck, had lived the life of a sultan before he locked down Tessa. Before he finally got his woman, Fang had been livingwith five girlfriends, each one there to serve his sexual needs. He’d touched none of the clubwhores, unlike Trouble, who’d dipped his dick indiscriminately. It wasn’t until Liz re-entered his life that Trouble gravitated toward Amelia, who took the least amount of effort because she saw herself wearing his kutte one day, and was accommodating toward that end. She was, in the beginning, a quick and easy fuck, someone to use as a buffer between him and the woman he’d wronged, someone to wield as a weapon against the woman he still ached for but believed he couldn’t have. He’d been an unmitigated asshole, using Amelia to keep Liz at arm’s length, because he was too much of a fucking coward to let himself feel the guilt roiling beneath the surface.

Now, though, he let the guilt breathe free, and the thought of touching Amelia—or any of the clubwhores—again, made his guts twist.

Liz was it for him. No more cheap imitations of the pleasure and passion he’d felt with Liz, and he knew he’d feel again. He just had to convince her…after he “cleaned house.”

Casting a speaking glance at Fang, Trouble lifted his chin in thanks when Fang muttered, “I’ll leave you to it,” and left the booth, headed toward the bar.

Alone, Trouble shifted Amelia from his lap and pointed to the seat Fang vacated.

Pursing her lips, Amelia huffed, but did as he silently demanded.

She crossed her arms and glared at him, no doubt aware of what was about to go down.

“This,” he pointed to himself and then her, “is over. I know I’ve been payin’ you more attention over the last two years, and I know it created some expectations, but those expectations…those are on you. I might have favored you, but we weren’t exclusive; I got pussy elsewhere when the need struck.”

Amelia shook her head. “No. You came to me because you know how good we are together. And we will only get better, baby,” she cooed, reaching across the table to run her fingers down his forearms. He leaned back, removing any part of his body from her reach. “And the other women…they won’t matter soon, not once we get serious.”

He grunted, internally rolling his eyes. It was his own damn fault that this was so fucking complicated. He’d been a sorry fuck, using Amelia like he had, knowing how she thought things would go, and he had no excuse. He just knew he had to cut things off, clean and clear, so there were no further complications or confusions.

“Let’s not be mistaken here, Amelia, I fucked up lettin’ you think there’d be more, but you also fucked up thinkin’ a clubwhore would ever be an ol’ lady.”

“But Bonnie—”

He hissed, jerking his head. “Bonnie was a traitorous bitch, who trapped a brother with a baby because she wanted a patch.” And she got herself killed selling out the club because Odin didn’t fall in with her plans to be the club queen, leaving her daughter with Tosser an orphan.

Amelia sneered, “Oh? Like that fucking doctor did? Word’s out, Trouble. We all know that the good and precious Doctor Liz got herself knocked up to get your patch—”

He slammed his fist on the table, making the beer bottles clank together. Amelia flinched, her brown eyes widening in fear.

“Don’t youeverfuckin’ talk about Liz—not fucking ever, and youespeciallydon’t talk about my daughter. They are both off-fucking-limits.” Seething, he leaned in and spoke in a low but menacing voice. “Get your facts straight—when Liz got pregnant, she wasalreadymy woman, there was no need to trap me with a baby. And even after she got herself pregnant, she didn’tdemand my fuckin’ patch. She spent the last ten fucking years raisin’ my kid on her own. She ain’t no patch chaser, but if she came in here right now and asked for my patch, I’d fuckin’ give it to her on my goddamn knees.”

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