Page 20 of Tusk's Fury

“Yeah, what do you want?”

“I just put the kids to bed, and I have something to show you.”

“Don’t care to see it. Anything else?”

“Why are you so dismissive, Wade? You used to love me.”

“You used to be loyal,” I fling back. “Now, you’re just a cheater who blew up our marriage because you lusted after your sister’s husband.”

She calmly tells me, “We could be a family again. I know you want that.”

I snort a laugh. “Correction. I wanted that at one point. No longer. If you don’t have anything constructive to say, I’m hanging up.”

“I called to tell you that our kids are getting a sibling.”

“Who knocked you up?” I ask, mildly curious.

“You did,” she says after a dramatic pause.

“Not fucking likely. If I had sex with you, I would remember.”

“We didn’t have our last one by having sex.” The tone of her voice is triumphant.

I go ramrod straight in my seat. “You’re bullshitting me,” I tell her.

There is no way they’d let her get implanted with my sperm again without me consenting. But as soon as the thought fully forms in my head, I realize I already gave consent six years ago, at the time I gave the samples.

I make a mental note to contact the IVF facility tomorrow. I need to verify that she scheduled another session, because she might be bluffing. I also need to withdraw my consent and have my sperm samples destroyed. That’s not doing me much good right now. I don’t want her doing this again.

“You’re going to be a father again,” she says triumphantly.

I tell her in no uncertain terms, “You’re not tricking me into making another kid with you. I’ll demand a paternity test so fast it will make your head spin.”

“Do whatever you like,” she tells me. “You’re still on the hook for paternity.”

I say, “Only if it’s actually mine.”

She leans across the counter towards the phone and makes a point of telling me, “It is. Don’t act so disappointed, I love having your babies, and you love me giving you more children. It’s a win-win situation, don’t you think?”

Seething, I close the call rather than answering her question. The prospect slides another beer my way, and I take a gigantic sip as I think the situation over again. I quickly decide that no matter if Brittany ever comes back to me or not, I’m not getting back into a toxic relationship with my ex-wife just because she needs an ATM.

Frustrated, I shove the damn beer aside, pull out my phone, and call Smoke. I hear a phone ringing in tandem with my phone’s ringing. The sound is coming from one of the pool table alcoves. I start walking back and hit the alcove just in time to see Smoke pull his phone out.

I jerk my chin at him and say, “It’s me. Do you and your old lady have time to talk?”

“Yeah, of course we do,” he replies. “What’s up? Is this club-related or personal?”

“Personal, and you’re probably gonna be fascinated by the creative ways my ex-wife is trying to screw me over this time.”

His old lady perks up. “I remember working on your case. Your ex couldn’t get rid of you fast enough.”

Smoke joins the conversation. “Wasn’t she the one with the affair partner?”

We all grab a four-top and settle down.

“Yeah, he left her. Now, she wants her old ATM back.”

Serena chuckles. “Just say no. Problem solved.”

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