Page 26 of Dark & Deceitful

That sounded lame, didn’t it?

Hip with the lingo.

Shoot me now.

Tarek grins and puffs up his chest at her compliment, more for Marge’s benefit than his. He’s a good kid.

Fog remains stoic, showing no emotion.

I don’t expect anything different.

Being reminded he looks anything like his father is never… good. Fog took Dark’s cheating the hardest. Probably harder than me, if that’s possible. He idolized his father down to his clothes, his favorite music, and even the movies he watched. Unlike his brother, Fog wanted to be a Sacred Sinner since he started walking. The aftermath of Dark’s deception destroyed their relationship like a land mine neither of them could avoid. There is a thin line between love and hate, and their line is damn near invisible. For years, Dark has tried to mend fences. I know he has. But I’m sure you can guess how that’s gone.

Marge reads the room like the smart cookie she is and vanishes to give the boys a chance to pick their lunch.

Elbows perched on the table edge, head hanging low, fingers shoved through his hair, Fog sits in despair like Fog always does, being the most sensitive, introspective of my kids. He’s also the biggest at well over six foot three and, if I had to put a number on it, in the range of three hundred pounds, or so his size 2XL shirts would indicate.

Drumming his fingers on the table's edge, Tarek grins at me as if his brother isn’t having a crisis. “Sooo…” he drawls. “I hear you only went five blocks.”

This little shithead.

“You talked to Dad,” I guess as the hairs on the back of my arms stand on end, sending a chill down my spine.

“Yeah. He talked to Dad,” a gruff voice speaks from behind me.

I freeze.

Smoother than silk, the Devil himself slides the chair out beside me, across from Fog, and bumps his foot against mine as it settles under the table.

I forget to breathe.

Fog squeezes my knee beneath the table in tune with my internal freakout.

I dislodge a stuttering breath.

Dark reaches out to tuck a strand of hair around the shell of my ear like it’s a normal day in some new reality I’m unaware of.

My heart punches my sternum like we’re in a heavy-weight boxing match. My muscles seize, turning my frame into an ironing board, as I wait for him to extract hiseverythingfrom my bubble. Once his featherlight touch clears my earlobe, it trails lower to drag across my neck. Somebody kill me now, pinch me, or whatever works. I don’t like this dream.

Not down with his father’s games, Fog glares at Dark as his hand on my knee tightens. I cuff my palm over his to communicate all is well. That I’m okay. Sure, I’m a little surprised. I didn’t expect Dark to show up. You’d think I’d have noticed his bike in the parking lot. When I arrived, I’d seen Tarek’s sleek black Harley and Fog’s red, flaming devil. Then again, by the looks of Dark, he’s in undercover mode—an expensive black suit and a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the throat where that stupidly attractive tattoo lives. No tie or pocket square. Simple yet sexy. It’s a stark contrast compared to my leather-cut, t-shirt, and jeans-wearing sons.

“I take it you didn’t ride in?” I force out when my ex finally gives me space.

“Nope. The black Mercedes is mine for now.” Dark relaxes in his chair.

I hum in response, not knowing what else to say. I didn’t see the car when I arrived. Then again, he could have arrived after me and snuck in. Or he could be parked out back. Not that it matters.

Marge takes this opportunity to integrate herself back into our family reunion. Looking at Dark, she wipes the back of her hand across her forehead like she might faint. Then the wicked woman leans down and whispers toward me, but loud enough that the entire table can hear, “Is it just me, or has he gotten sexier?” She fans her face as her cheeks burn bright red.

Tarek snickers.

The jerk himself beams like she handed him a trophy and takes it a step further when he blows the woman a kiss. This might very well be the end of poor Marge, as she almost swoons right off her feet. Before she collapses, I reach out and grip her forearm to keep her upright. Her gaze locked on my ex, Marge blinks a handful of times before she clears her throat and patsthe top of my hand, which remains gently cuffed around her arm. When I’m convinced she won’t keel over, I let go.

Marge’s gaze swings from Dark to me. “Thank ya, darlin’.” She pats my shoulder. “I’m gonna get ya an extra slice of pie for that.”

I open my mouth to tell her it’s unnecessary. Trust me, I understand the effects Dark has on women, and that’s why he does what he does for the club. Her matronly stare cuts me off before I can make a peep. “Let’s hope it’ll give ya a bigger hiney.” Marge flashes me a mischievous wink. Then she’s gone, lumbering away as if she didn’t just insult my ass.

Tarek cackles.

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