Page 40 of Claimed By the Biker Brothers

“Oh, but it does concern me,” Jagger replies.

My head’s spinning. A ball of bitterness unfurls in the back of my throat as I struggle to remain upright and try to figure out a reasonable, nonviolent way out of this hot mess, but it’s too late. I’m no longer in control of the situation.

“You finally did it, huh?” Calvin sneers with bloody teeth. “You fucked her.” He looks at me. “Are you my replacement? Kyra’s new daddy?”

Jagger doesn’t bother with words anymore. He punches Calvin again. A direct hit to the nose, followed by a left and a right hook. I hear the bones crackling. I can almost taste Calvin’s blood in my mouth. My knees get weak when Jagger finishes with a mind-boggling uppercut.

Calvin falls back and lands on his ass. His face swollen and bruised, the skin breaking where Jagger’s knuckles made contact. And I see him for what he’s always been; he hasn’t changed a bit, not even by the tiniest bit. This is Calvin Russo: the man I thought I would love and be with for the rest of my life.

The father of my child.

And my worst living nightmare. It took me years to heal from his lies, his manipulations, and his psychological abuse.

“Stay away from Robyn and Kyra,” Jagger warns him. “I’ll make it hurt even more if you go anywhere near them again. Have I made myself clear?”

“Fuck you, Jag. You’re not the boss of me anymore,” Calvin says but despite his strong words, he doesn’t get up from the ground. He stays down, barely able to look his assailant in the eye as he tastes the blood from his cracked lip.

“No, I’m the man who’s going to put you six feet under if you don’t abide by that restraining order,” Jagger says. “It’ll be self-defense too. I promise you.”

“You’re threatening me?”

“I’m telling you what’s going to happen, you piece of shit,” Jagger replies.

Calvin gives me a sour look. “I will take legal action, Robyn. There’s no way I’m letting our daughter grow up in such a dangerous and toxic environment.”

“I think you hit him a little too hard,” I mutter, glancing at Jagger. “He’s talking out of his ass.”

“Nah, he’s always talked out of his ass,” Jagger replies, his brow furrowed as he moves closer to me. “Calvin just thinks we’re still buying into his bullshit.”

“You’ll pay for this,” Calvin shouts.

“Get the fuck out of here before I shut you up for good.”

As soon as Jagger takes a step toward him, Calvin jumps back to his feet and walks away, constantly cursing and promising legal repercussions. I watch him make his way down the street, nausea building up to the point where I’m confident I’m going to hurl.

Jagger’s arm comes around my shoulders. “It’s a good thing I was on my way over to relieve Jackie.”

“Jackie?”

“Your security detail,” he says, half-smiling. “You’ve had her for most of the day. She called me about a half hour ago and said her mother was in an accident. She had to ride off.”

“That’s why I didn’t see anybody watching for me when I left work,” I mumble.

“Robyn, are you okay?” He gives me a worried look.

“Yeah, why?”

I feel soft and mushy all of a sudden. Hot and cold at the same time. My knees are weak, as though I’m made entirely from jelly. My throat burns. My heart’s racing, every beat thudding against my ribcage.

“You don’t look okay,” Jagger says. “Did Calvin do something to you?”

“No, no… he barely touched me…”

My words aren’t coming out the way they’re supposed to. I’m slurring.

“Robyn.”

“Jag… something’s… off…”

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