Page 19 of Outlaw

She nodded. “I swear I won’t let anything happen to her.”

“I want oat milk in this house. And find some ice cream made with oat milk. When we are done, the kitchen is to be rid of anything with tree nuts and get rid of fucking peanuts too. All nuts out. Clean the kitchen thoroughly so that no traces of any nut are left behind. I’ll let Luther know his peanut butter cookies have to stay in his room on his side of the house. No more baking them in the kitchen either.”

“Yes, sir, but tree nuts and peanuts aren’t the same—”

“I don’t give a fuck. Do it. Don’t question me.”

“Yes, sir.”

I looked over to see Stevie watching us with a curious expression as she stood slightly behind her mother’s legs. I let out a breath and tried to relax my tense body. She was an observant little thing, and I didn’t want her scared of me.

“Let’s go,” I told Branwen.

The meeting was going to take a turn that my lawyers weren’t prepared for. I had planned on coming to an agreement on joint custody with Branwen. Stevie staying with me every other week and taking turns with holidays. That was what my lawyers had suggested, but that was before I’d just been enlightened on how fragile a little girl could be. Levi had been different—or that was how I remembered it. At that age, he’d been with Maggie most of the time. I hadn’t been around as much as I should have been. Not until he was old enough to understand the legacy he had been born into.

Changing the plans in the short walk to my office was rash. I was doing it without consulting my lawyers. But I had missed four years of Stevie’s life already. I wasn’t going to miss any more, and I sure as fuck wasn’t about to have her leave her mother. Branwen was required to keep her safe. I didn’t want them separated. She needed her mom.

My chest got tight and uncomfortable again as I thought about all the things that Branwen had listed that could happen to her. I rubbed my fist over it, trying to ease some of the tension, as I stalked down the wide hallway.

Fuck. Was this what having a daughter was going to be like? Would I always have this panicky feeling clawing up my back, trying to suffocate me?

Stevie wouldn’t be safe from my enemies when they realized I had this weakness. She wasn’t going to go to some fuckingschool. She had to be guarded. Protected.

The only other option was letting them go and not claiming her.

I wasn’t going to be able to do that. There was no going back now. Whatever I had to do to keep her safe, I’d do it. Now that I knew she existed, and I’d met her, I wasn’t letting her be raised by some other man. She was mine. Her mother was just going to have to get on board. I wanted my daughter, and my daughter needed her mom.

Being the leader of a branch of the Southern Mafia had never made my knees feel weak or my stomach clench, but with a tiny little blonde beauty with a head full of curls in my life now, I was ready to fall the fuck apart.

Eight

Branwen

I followed Linc inside the room, and the two men who stood both looked to be in their fifties. Unlike Linc, they looked their age. One was even balding. The other had thick silver hair and glasses. If I hadn’t known Linc’s age, I would have thought he was early to mid-forties.

“Branwen, this is Garth Stanz and Matthew Hoyt,” Linc informed me as he walked past the men and straight to a bar, which appeared to be stocked with five different whiskeys.

Like the rest of the office, the bar was a dark wood, almost black. A rack with lowball glasses and a few short, odd-shaped, almost pear-like, glasses hung to the right of it while the left was a built-in humidor case. My eyes drifted over the room, and I stopped at the portrait of a black thoroughbred. I wondered if that horse had been his—or maybe still was. Obviously, it was important.

Behind his desk were tall windows with drapes that hung from the crown molding to the hardwood floor. A cylindrical chandelier, with the same bronze as the rest of the hardware, hung in the center of the room. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with just books. Nothing more. I had no idea if Linc was a reader or not. There was a lot I didn’t know about the man I had thought I loved for most of my life.

When Linc took his glass of whiskey to stand behind his desk, he motioned for me to take a seat as the two men sat back in the caramel-colored leather chairs. I glanced around and decided to sit in one of the same-styled chairs to the left of the black leather chesterfield, whereas they were seated to the right.

The room smelled of Linc. His distinctive scent that had stayed with me long after I left that hotel room in Vegas. Recently, I hadn’t been close enough to him again to get a whiff, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t inhaling more than necessary. It was addictive. I could dislike the man and appreciate the way he smelled.

I looked from Linc to his lawyers.

Linc was looking through some papers on his desk then stopped to read one. His jaw was rigid and whatever he was reading didn’t help matters.

“As you already know, the marriage certificate is legal.” Linc’s tone didn’t hide his annoyance about that fact.

Well, I didn’t want to be married to him either. It was why I had come here in the first place.

“I understand you want a divorce because you’re engaged to be married.”

His eyes, flickering to the three-carat ring on my hand, held a trace of disgust. I fought the urge to cover it. That was a silly reaction, but old habits died hard, I supposed. My desire to please this man was well past its expiration date.

“However…” he continued.

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