Page 56 of Savage Heart

No matter how much her heart cried out for his.

Striding through the front door just after 5:30PM, Trouble grinned and called, “Honey, I’m home!”

In the three weeks since Liz and Erika moved in, he’d made a point of coming home at the same time every night to spend precious time with his girls.

My girls.

Fuck, he liked the sound of that.

At the sound of his little girl’s giggles, his heart soared. He fucking loved that sound, it never failed to wipe away the bullshit and weariness of the day. Erika had quickly become his reason to live and breathe—and her mother…she’dalwaysbeen the reason—he’d just spent the last ten years slowly suffocating without her. And now that he could take a deep breath again, fuck was he going to go back to barely breathing. He’d take many massive gulps of air, until his lungs burned, and his head swam—he’d drag Liz into his chest, and put her back where she belonged as the most precious of his vital organs.

“Trouble!” Erika called, still giggling, as she ran into the room, and wrapped her arms around his waist, face planting intohis belly. Chuckling, he bent his knees, wrapped his arms around her, and squeezed. She was a tiny thing—definitely getting her mother’s petiteness. He lifted Erika up, grinned into her all-too familiar eyes, and dusted wet kisses all over her face. She wriggled, laughing, her happiness filling him so full he nearly burst with it.

This…he’d missed this for almost ten years.

Never again.

“Mommy made tater tot casserole,” Erika effused, her green eyes shining.

His grin grew into an outright smile. “She did, huh? Does it have lots of cheese in it?” he asked, remembering that tater tot casserole was something Liz had made for him back in the day. It was cheap, simple, delicious, and it could feed them for a couple of days—even withhisappetite.

Erika nodded energetically. “Yeah! And she let me put the cheese on it all by myself!” At almost ten, when most kids were getting jaded and losing the joy in the little things, Erika was still as enthusiastic about cheesing casseroles as she was about getting a new dress. The kid was joy personified.

And that was all her mother…because her father hadn’t been there, and even if he were, he would have just tainted all that joy. As a boy, happiness of any kind had been beaten out of him, until even smiling had been a red cape flapped in the face of an angry bull. Karl Skaarsen was a mean motherfucker, and any sign of goodness, happiness, joy—he ripped it out, leaving a gaping wound that wouldn’t heal.

It still hadn’t healed.

But Erika…she was his happiness now, and he wished he’d known what it was like to have that happiness, that pure joy in this life over the last ten years. A pang of regret tapped against his heart—he’d felt so many lately, that the sensation was an old friend, one he never wanted to see again.

“You help your mom mix it all up, too?” he asked, knowing Liz had gotten most of her arm mobility back, but was still struggling with not overusing her arm, and the cast made fine movements difficult. Unfortunately, she’d learned tricks on how to dress herself one-handed, so he hadn’t gotten a chance to see her glorious body in her bra and panties…or naked, as he’d prefer.

“Yes, she did, and what a mess she left on the counter, too,” Liz said as she stepped into the living room from the kitchen. She looked at Erika with narrowed eyes. “You’ve got a mess to clean up, young lady.” Trouble bit back a groan; Liz was wearing a pair of black yoga pants that molded to her thick thighs, wide hips, and lush ass, a dark red tank that cupped her tits just right, and her shoulder length wavy blonde hair was up in a messy knot at the back of her neck. She’d, no doubt, spent the day in her doc-boss outfit of curve-hugging pencil skirt and blouse, and heels that made her legs go on forever, legs he wanted wrapped around his waist…and his head. But now, in a simple, comfortable get up, she was still fucking sexy as all hell. There wasn’t a thing Liz could wear that would make her any less fuckable, because it wasn’t just her body that turned him that fuck on, it was all of her. Her smile, the way her blue eyes lit up when she saw something funny…or when she looked at their daughter. The way they’d darken and heat when they looked at him—when she thought he wasn’t looking. It was the way she carried herself—all sass and badass doctor, because he knew all the heartache and struggle she had to go through to become the woman she was. It was her heart, the way she loved—how she’d loved him, and how she loved their daughter. And…it was her soul. Liz had the brightest, fieriest, most pure soul of anyone he’d ever known, and it still cut deep that he’d pushed all of her away. He’d had perfection in his hands, in his bed, in his arms, and he’d fucked it all up.

But I will fix it.

He had to. Looking at her standing there, her hands planted on her hips, her eyes dancing with mirth, his cock agreed, thickening against his leg. Fuck. Now was not the time for a hard on, especially with his daughter basically eye level with his dick.

At her mom’s words, Erika pouted, making Trouble bite back a laugh. God, but she looked just like her mother then—the same feigned look of chagrin. Liz was a pro at looking upsetorinnocent, but being as about repentant as a whore in church.

Liz looked at Trouble with a mocking glare, fighting her own smile. Yeah, she saw it, too.

“Go on. Clean up all that cheese, then wash your hands. Dinner’ll be done soon.”

Erika flicked her wide eyes at him, her pout bigger and more pleading, and he nearly gave in.

“Go on, little one, clean up. You made the mess, you clean up the mess,” Trouble urged gently. He was very new at the whole “dad” thing, but he was determined to be a good one.

At least better than Pa….

Blowing out an exaggerated sigh, Erika whirled on her heel and stomped to the kitchen, leaving Trouble and Liz staring after her, Trouble’s heart growing bigger. There was something about watching his daughter living, thriving, and safe in his home that made him feel like a fucking superhero.

Flicking his gaze to Liz, he didn’t miss the flash of something like sadness that crossed her face.

“You okay? Takin’ it easy at the clinic?” Trouble had argued with Liz returning to work; he’d wanted her to take it easy for a little longer, but she’d been adamant about at least spending a few hours in the clubhouse clinic every day. Not that there were many medical emergencies, but Dragon and Denise—the new brothel Madame—were having the women from the brothel, Sex & Candy, come in for their physicals. Usually, Liz would visit themassive mansion outside of the city limits to do the exams there, but with the Russians up their asses, they were transporting the women in groups of two or three to the clubhouse clinic. Thankfully, the women were professionals and didn’t flirt with the brothers while they were there, which would have caused problems with the clubwhores who saw the brothers as their turf.

Liz shrugged, but her face grew taut, belying the idea that it was an easy day. “I had a few of the girls from Candyland,” she said, making Trouble snort at the name she gave the club-owned whorehouse, “and Dragon came back in with a couple of busted knuckles and a cut on his neck that needed stitches, other than that, it was a slow day.” Dragon had been getting a lot of injuries lately, and Trouble chalked it up to the man needing an outlet for all that quiet fury. He had no idea about the man’s background, but he did know that Dragon was a fierce fighter, a loyal brother, and menacing as fuck when necessary.

Trouble nodded. “How’s the arm?” he asked, tipped his head to the arm now hanging loose at her side. Last week, Dr. Faison examined the arm and said it was healing well, and that she no longer needed to keep it immobilized in a sling. She still couldn’t do anything that required double-handed dexterity, like knitting, but she could dress herself, do her hair, and apparently stitch up bikers.

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