Page 9 of Anchor

Hopefully, we can hash things out, and Travis will come home with me. He can party with the brothers whenever he wants, our first wedding anniversary is different.

I take a deep breath as the guy on the metal gate lets me in, not even asking why I’m here but by all the cars outside, I’m guessing the party is huge.

Why would I want to be with others on our wedding anniversary?

Shaking my head, I pull up near the door, adamant I won’t be here long because I don’t like leaving our son. I put my car in park and climb out, my legs feeling like jelly, nerves hitting me hard.

I’ve never been here before.

Biting my bottom lip, I head to the large brick building that looks like it could be a hotel.

I walk into the dimly lit, rowdy room, and instantly, the smell of sweat and sex hits my nostrils, making me want to vomit, but I swallow it down and slowly descend the steps, my eyes taking in the chaos around the room.

Seriously, my husband wanted me to be around this?

The men are currently screwing women on the couches, there are two women on the floor making out while rubbing their bodies together, and I’m pretty sure that’s a man on his knees, sucking off another guy, who is leaning on a pool table watching the guy suck him off.

My heart pounds as I try to find Travis.

He was so angry at me when he left the house because I didn’t want to come here and celebrate him getting his patch on our wedding anniversary—our first wedding anniversary at that, and only two months after giving birth to his son, and it’s clear he forgot the meal we decided to have.

We need to talk.

He can’t just walk out like that, and I refuse to be like my mother and be a doormat.

I take a step forward but gasp when some large man knocks into me and chuckles drunkenly as he looks at me up and down, making me feel dirty and very naked despite wearing one of Travis’ shirts and jeans.

“Hey there, beautiful, the names Brute,” he slurs, and I swallow hard.

“I, uh, I’m looking for Travis Turner,” I stutter, my palms sweating, and the man chuckles.

“Travis? You mean Anchor, right?” he slurs, and I nod once, wondering if that’s his road name now, which would make sense because he’s my anchor as well….

“Unless you’re into threesomes, you may want to wait until he comes down. He went to his room upstairs with Ginger,” the guy says with glee.

My eyes widen at his accusation, but I see the truth in his words—the happiness he’s showing for my husband. Absolute pain fills me as I whisper, “Where is his room?”

Brute groans, “Lucky fucker,” then nods to the stairs. “Third door to the right.”

I nod in thanks and walk around him with my heart in my throat.

“Please, please, please,” I whisper, full of pain as I climb the stairs, hoping that guy, Brute, has it wrong.

Surely, he wouldn’t cheat on me after he forgot our anniversary, all because the club surprised him with a patching he wasn’t even sure he wanted to begin with, and I wanted to stay with our son.

Please….

I look at the doors until I reach the one the man indicated, moans echoing from beneath, and my tears blur my eyes.

Oh God….

My body trembles, but knowing I need to witness it, to make it concrete that our relationship is over, I slowly turn the door handle and silently open it, and the sight before me kills me.

Ginger, as in Harley, the girl who made my last year of high school hell when he made me his girlfriend, is currently gripping his blue sheets, her naked chest squished on the bed, her ass in the air as she moans while my husband, the man who promised never to hurt me, grips her hips tightly, his head tilted back with pleasure as he screws her ass, his moans and groans mixing with hers.

Why, why would he do this to me after I’ve given him everything?

I shake my head as my tears fall, and slowly begin to shut his door, not willing to even make myself known, but freeze when I hear him grunt, “Fuck, sex hasn’t felt like this in months.” And I look at him with absolute heartbreak.

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