Page 14 of What Lies Within

A man who must be Marco.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” Tyke’s hand tightens around mine, keeping me pinned to his side.

The devil turns, and my heart skips a painful beat when I lay eyes on the blonde woman beyond.

"Your people have been more than hospitable while I was forced to wait on you," Marco quips. He slaps Tyke on the shoulder, jest apparent in the banter between the men.

Yet I can’t peel my eyes from the severely thin woman to my left. She wears a pantsuit like a coat of armor, the sharp lines of the shoulders and neat pleat ironed into the front of the trousers project a power that her underfed frame sorely lacks. Despite her gaunt appearance, I find her beautiful in a fierce way. Hereyes are lined in black, smoky shadow contrasting against her brilliant blue eyes.

Eyes that positively tear me apart where I stand.

“Who the fuck is this?”

Tyke ignores her question, pulling me flush against his front so my back presses tight against his chest. Arms languid over my shoulders, he pins me in place and continues the conversation with Marco. “Minion led the rescue party. They should be ridin’ in any moment.”

"Fox, huh?" Marco rubs forefinger and thumb on either side of his shaven chin. "You think he's involved with your other… problem?"

“Possibly.” Tyke’s body stiffens behind me. “The thought crossed my mind on the way back here.”

I catch sight of Digger leaning his elbows on the bar behind Marco. He listens in yet makes no move to join the conversation, content to glean what he can from eavesdropping alone.

"Hey." The points of three sharp nails dig into my shoulder as I'm jolted roughly in Tyke's hold. "I asked a question, you insolent little bitch. Who the fuck are you?"

“Not now,” Tyke rumbles over my head. “For fuck’s sake.”

Charlene’s eyes flick upward, a sneer curling her top lip. “I want to know why she’s here, listening to you two talk. Since when have whores been privy to club business?”

Tyke’s left arm leaves my front, his hand shooting out to encircle the witch’s throat. “Since when have ex-wives been allowed back on club grounds?” he counters. He shunts her back with a rough push. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut before I have you escorted off-site."

My heart hammers, gaze flicking wildly between Charlene and Marco. Will her new husband do anything about Tyke’s treatment of her? Am I about to be sandwiched in a brawl?To my utter surprise, Marco looks bored with the display as he pours a neat whiskey and slides it toward his son.

“You can’t kick me out,” Charlene pushes. “This is mydaughterwe’re talking about.”

“A daughter you so conveniently forgot existed while you fucked your way through the brotherhood,” Digger mutters.

She lunges behind Tyke and me, intent on striking the Vice President. Yet Marco's firm armbar stops her dead in her tracks.

He leans in, pressing his mouth against her head as he all but growls, “Sit your ass down in the fucking corner before you embarrass yourself any more than you already have.”

She jerks free of his hold, smoothing her power suit and crossing to the sofa closest to the unlit fire.

What the fuck did she do to have them all hate her with such passion? From Digger's comment, I'd say it was infidelity, but the utter contempt for her feels deeper than that.

“How will you deal with Fox?” Marco asks as though the whole showdown with his wife didn’t just happen.

"How I see fit," Tyke hedges. "Thank you for your offer to help, but it's no longer needed." He twists behind me, one arm still holding me close, to presumably eye his ex-wife. "You can take her home."

“Afraid not.” The mafia man takes a slow, deliberate mouthful of his drink. “Deo won’t be happy until he’s seen your daughter with his own two eyes.”

Tyke nods, the movement swaying me a little in his hold. I feel like a teddy bear, a comfort to him in his time of need. My hands find his strong forearm banded across my chest, and I hold him tight, letting him know that I'm here for him if it's what he needs.

Fuck the mixture of interested and scathing glares we receive.

Tyke and Marco continue to make small talk about people and things I don’t understand, but I tune out their discussion in favor of the sounds filtering from around the room. Namely, waiting for one tell-tale noise from out in the yard. Sure enough, as I consider gently easing from Tyke's hold, the rumble of bikes builds until it becomes a dull reverberation echoing about the cavernous room.

All conversation stops. Charlene rises to her feet, looking to her husband for direction—maybe permission—and frowns when he doesn't move toward the door, stalling her too.

Tyke, on the other hand, slides one large hand to the back of my head, pressing a kiss to my temple. “‘Bout fuckin’ time.” He lets me go and strides toward the yard.

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