Page 17 of The Oath We Take

Jesus, how good would she look pregnant, carrying my kid?

The thought is enough to bring that telltale tingle in my balls that proves I’m close.

I let my perverted daydream run riot. Fucking her from behind, my hands on her swollen belly, and…

“Fuck,” I grunt as I start to come in an orgasm too strong to often be achieved solo.

The mental picture of releasing all over her pregnant stomach amplifies everything as I give in to the thoughts I’ve tried to bury for the last five years.

As my knees shake and my strokes lose any form of rhythm, I know deep in my soul there has only ever been one person I wanted to knock up. I want Ember to be mine, and for her to be pregnant with my kid.

After I catch my breath, I wash my hair and think through where my head went just then. I’ve always thought I wanted kids because it’s what’s expected of me as an Addams. A generation of kids to pass the ranch to. But two of my sisters have kids. I have four nephews who could benefit. Or I could just blow the whole fucking thing and give it to my only niece, Tillie, as she’s the eldest.

But something settles in my chest at the thought of being a dad. I want kids. And part of my legacy will be to split the land into however many parcels I need to. Give them all a slice. Let them do with it what they will, but with a rule that if they want to sell, they have to give their siblings first right of refusal.

Once I’m washed and dressed, I down some coffee and eggs. As I’m eating, I fire off a handful of messages. One to Kelly to congratulate her on passing her latest exam. Another to wish my nephew, Cody, a happy birthday. He’s already sent a photograph of him sitting on the dirt bike I gave him, along with a note of thanks. Rowan gave me a fucking earful when I dropped it off for her to hide last week, but I promised I’d teach him how to ride it safely.

I then load up my bike with everything I’d packed last night.

When I pull into the club lot and park my bike in its place in our ride formation, all the brothers can talk about is how it’s the best fucking day to ride to Sturgis. There isn’t a cloud in the sky. Not sure there is anything better than being in the flow with these men on a day like this.

Except perhaps kissing Ember in the goddamn stable.

And my thoughts are back on her which, in all honesty, is where they have been most of the last three days. That woman will be the death of me. I can’t reconcile my vacillating thoughts. A part of me hopes my future looks like the two of us, ninety-years-old, with kids and grandkids and a large house with a wraparound porch.

But when I stepped into my home last night, long after the sun had set, exhausted after a full day of backbreaking work mending fences with some of the hands, I truly believed kissing her was a reckless mistake.

“Atom,” Butcher says, disturbing my thoughts. “You did a great job of taking care of the logistics in Smoke’s place.”

He offers me his hand, and I shake it firmly. “Thanks, Prez.”

“Knew I could count on you to get it done, brother. Move your bike up and ride in Smoke’s place to my left.”

Dad has never been big on praise. Yet it never bothered me, because between Grandpa and Butcher, I had two good men showing me the path. And the idea I’ll be riding in the first row across from Grudge makes this an even better day.

“Well deserved, brother,” Wraith says as I leave my usual row alongside him.

I grin as some of the other brothers cheer, clap, and whistle as I switch position.

Butcher leads the column. He’s always been a decent man with me. Dad says he never wanted a leadership role in the club, as he knew it would take him away from the ranch too much. But I don’t buy it. He doesn’t much like work but seems to love rewards.

Sadly, unless you’re a self-serving billionaire, the two seem to go hand in hand. In life, you can’t have, and maybe don’t deserve, one without the other.

Maybe I won’t be the club enforcer when the time comes for me to run the ranch, but I hope I’ll be able to manage both roles, since they are two important parts of my life.

I love my club, I love my role, and I respect my president. If he wants me to keep my hands off his daughter, I’ll keep my hands off his daughter.

I’ve done it for years.

Even if there was something about seeing Ember and that guy in the bar that reminded me she won’t be single forever. Of course, she wants a boyfriend who could become a husband and the father to her kids. And I need to be okay with that, even as something curdles in my gut at the knowledge that if I do as I plan and keep my hands off her, it won’t be me.

Ember and Butcher’s relationship has always been a push and pull. Once upon a time, I used to be able to see both sides, but I realize that Butcher’s side always aligned with my own view: that Ember should be protected more.

But, if I put myself in her shoes, I can imagine how that must chafe. She’s like a horse that isn’t quite trained to take the bit and the saddle. When she sees her father coming, she’s probably ready to bolt.

If I ever have kids, I hope they don’t flinch when they see me coming. I hope they always think,Thank fuck, here’s Dad. He’ll figure this shit out with me.

Empathizing with her now, I feel like even more of a shit. Because he spoke to her on the back of my comments about her security at Whiskey Fever, which made her mad and lit the fuse that blew my self-control.

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