Page 5 of Thornhill Road

It wasn’t just that he needed to be at the bar half an hour ago.

If work was the pressing matter, he could have called Winnie. Bull’s ol’ lady was always more than happy to help out where she could when it came to MK. She understood what it was to be a parent. She and Bull had three boys, the youngest of which was only a year older than his MK.

This worked out for his little girl, as Otto had become her best friend.

Mustang was alright with that and foresaw he would be until Otto hit puberty; at which point, should he get any ideas about changing the nature of his relationship with Mustang’s princess,he didn’t care if Otto was his president’s youngest son or not—they’d have words.

It was two forty-five.

His custody agreement with Trix stated Mustang had MK Sunday morning until Wednesday afternoon. His schedule revolved around his little girl, so long as he had a say in the matter. He closed the bar Mondays and Tuesdays not simply because their Friday and Saturday night draw alone was enough to get them through the entire week, but also because he wanted to be home with his girl.

It pissed him off knowing if Trix was more than forty-five minutes late, it was because she was prioritizing something else over their daughter.

If she didn’t show in the next fifteen minutes, he knew he could tag in Winnie. He’d take MK with him to the clubhouse, which was routinely kid-friendly during business hours, and have Winnie meet them there. Possible as it was, this wasn’t his preference. It was a gorgeous day outside, and he wanted to be on his hog. MK still had a couple inches to grow before she’d be able to ride, which meant he’d be in his truck if Trix didn’t show.

He looked from where he stood, leaning against the kitchen island, into his living room. MK was on her knees playing with a couple of her stuffed animals. Her dark, curly locks were wild and loose—the way he loved them best—and she swept a few strands out of her eyes as she continued the scene she’d been enacting on the coffee table in front of her. She was completely oblivious of her mother’s lateness.

It still pissed him off.

He heard it when a car pulled into his driveway five minutes later, and he looked in the direction of the front door.

“Princess, time to put your toys up.”

“Oh, but daddy, do I have to?” she whined as she got to her feet. “Can’t I take Mr. Snuggles and Mr. Twinkles with me this time?”

He pushed himself upright and started for the door. “No, baby. You know the drill. They’ll be here when you get back.”

“Okay,” she said on a sigh, her shoulders slumped as she made her way to her room.

Mustang waited until she was out of sight, then opened the storm door and stepped out onto his front porch. He then proceeded to meet Trix halfway.

Four years he’d had his house. Not once had she so much as peeked inside.

His home was his sanctuary. It was MK’s safe haven. He’d bought it for her, and the only other woman who’d ever stepped foot inside was Winnie. Trix might have been the mother of his child, but she sure as hell was not welcome into his home.

As she approached, he took in her appearance.

Her long, curly hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot, and she wore a pair of jeans that sat low at her hips. Her cropped Guns-N-Roses tank top revealed her narrow waist and flat stomach. She had on her usual amount of caked on makeup, barely concealing the dark circles under her eyes. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days and could put on a few pounds.

Every time he saw her, he wondered how on earth he’d ever found her appealing—let alone desirable for the three months he’d fucked her on the regular. Like most of the sheep who hung around the clubhouse, she’d been easy pussy. She was never more than that, and he’d never claimed her, but she certainly wanted him to—as evidenced by the four-year-old daughter they shared.

She’d poked a hole in his condom thinking she could trap him into making her his ol’ lady.

She’d thought wrong.

That was back in the day, before the club was clean. Back when the code of the Stallion brotherhood was being compromised from the top down.

The Wild Stallions were always going to straddle the line when it came to the letter of the law—clean or not—but Stallion code was something else. The code of the brotherhood was sacred, or so it should have been. The number one rule of the house was no drugs. It was their job tomovethe drugs, not consume them. Addicts were sloppy.

Stallions were outlaws.

They knew how to party.

But they weren’t supposed to mix business with pleasure.

Back then, Trix was a hang around who hung around too much. She was into that shit, but Mustang wasn’t. When he found out she was pregnant, he warned her that if she didn’t get clean, she was on her own with the kid. She sobered herself up, hopeful he’d change his mind about them.

What she failed to understand was, clean or not, he would not be manipulated.

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