Page 58 of Savage Heart

At her venomous words, Trouble jerked back, his mind reeling.

Ol’ lady? Who the fuck—

“Amelia,” he growled.

Liz sniffed indignantly. “She pissed all over you, taking great joy in telling me that you’ve been slipping into her bed every night, and that you’re just waiting for this shit with the Russians to be over so you can ditch me, marry her, and live your happily ever after.”

He pushed away from the counter, and Liz stumbled back at the sudden movement. Trouble stalked toward Liz, and Liz retreated until her back hit the opposite counter, and then he was right over her, her angry breaths puffing against his chest. Grabbing her shoulders, he felt the tension roll through her—at her anger or at his touch, he couldn’t tell.

“First off, she’s not my ol’ lady. I’d rather tie a piece of raw meat to my dick and walk naked through the desert than make her my ol’ lady. Second, unless she somehow invented select teleportation, there’s no fucking way I’ve been leavin’ my bed for hers every night. I’ve been in my own bed, jackin’ my cock to thoughts of you naked, so I haven’t been doin’ shit with Amelia.”

At the mention of his cock and what he was going with it, Liz’s cheeks bloomed with color.

Fuck, now he was getting hard again, and her breathing was picking up, her hard nipples dragged against this abs, making her gasp. She tried to take a step back, to pull from his grip, but he wouldn’t let her.

“I know that Amelia and I have a history, baby, but that ended the night I found you bleedin’ on your kitchen floor. She was a comfortable distraction, a way to numb myself against the pain of losing you, and now that I’m workin’ to get you back, to get my family back, there’sno fucking wayI’m going back to comfortable, to numbness, and especially not to whatever form of crazy Amelia has been smokin’, because I already warned that woman about leavin’ you and Erika alone.”

Rage thrashing his insides, Trouble dropped his hands from Liz’s shoulders and pulled his cell from the pocket of his cotton PJs.

“Get Erika, y’all start eatin’,” he drawled, barely keeping his voice even. “I’ve got a call to make.”

Without giving Liz a chance to shit fury over him and what he’d said about his plans to get back with her, Trouble turned and strode from the kitchen.

As if sensing his wrath, Amelia didn’t answer her phone, which was a first. She’d always been quick to answer, usually because he’d be calling to tell her to get her ass to the clubhouse for fucking. Now, though, since Liz’s attack and his subsequent change from horny dog to doting father, he’d pushed any thoughts of Amelia from his mind. Until she did shit like confront his woman and talk shit about his daughter.

She’d been part of the club for four years, so she was part of the fabric of the club. Before she’d become Trouble’s regular piece of ass, she’d been a favorite among the brothers, a sort of head bitch over the other clubwhores, and a regular at all club events. Now, though, Trouble saw that her being his regular, the favorite, and the head bitch had gone to her head. She’d ignored his warnings—not just as a brother, but as the motherfucking club VP—and she needed to be knocked down a peg or twenty.

Cursing, he sent a quick text to AFK, telling him to track her down, then send Slick to “escort” her back to the clubhouse, and monitor her.

When Trouble got to the table, he was happy to see his girls just digging in. He slid into the seat beside Liz, across from Erika, and helped himself to two heaping scoops of casserole. This tater tot mess was the shit.

Shoving a bite into his mouth, he groaned. “This is still as good as I remember, Skizzy,” he complimented, turning to look at Liz. She glared at him through her blush, and he grinned at her, flashing his dimples.

“You had it before, Trouble?” Erika asked, her head cocked as she looked between him and her mom.

Liz tensed beside him.

Trouble cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah. Your mom used to make it for me a long time ago.”

She scrunched up her nose, looking all kinds of adorable, and then made his stomach drop into his feet in the next second.

“You’re my dad, aren’t you?”

Beside him, Liz exploded into a coughing fit, probably food going down the wrong pipe. She slammed her palm against her chest and stared across the table at Erika, who’d jammed her chin into her chest and was looking up at her mom fearfully, like she’d said something wrong.

His stomach still in his big toe, it took him a minute to speak.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice all high and shit, like his balls hadn’t dropped yet.

Tearing her gaze from her mom who was now gulping down water, Erika rolled her eyes.

Annnnd…that was her mother, too.

“I mean that I’m almost ten, I’m not a dumb baby. I can see that I look like you, and mom said that my dad was trouble—I just didn’t know it was, like, your name. And…some of the stuff you say…you and mom knew each other a long time ago. Before I was born.” She shrugged, another of her mother’s traits. “Not to mention the name you call her—Skizzy. No one else calls herthat.” Well, shit. “I figured it out, is all,” she finished, her voice quiet. She bit her lip, flicked her gaze between him and Liz again, and then murmured, “Why didn’t you tell me? And where have you been for ten years?”

Like a sledgehammer to the chest, Trouble fell backward in the chair with a thud. His mind reeling, his heart tripping as it raced, and his mouth dry as desert sand. Not knowing what to say, he turned to Liz who was looking at Erika, her eyes wide and watery, her face pale, and her proud shoulders slumped. She looked like he felt—flummoxed. He had no idea what to say to Erika. It hadn’t been his idea to keep the truth from her…but itwashis fault that she had to ask where he’d been.

He’d been right there, in Las Vegas, but he could have been on fucking Mars with how far apart they’d been. So close he could have seen her every day, yet so far because he’d fucked everything up, and lost what meant the most to him—his woman and time with his daughter.

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