Page 20 of Marrying My Moth Lady

“Our baby,” I sneer. “What you carry is half mine—”

“What I carry.What I carry! She’s a person. This number of months along, she has fingers, toes, and ears to hear you. She’s not a what! But people are furniture to you, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, burning my tongue on my tea because I can’t wait to wet my whistle.

“Name someone who works in the Carter office by name.”

“There’s…” I rack my brain for one name…anybody. There are the plastic receptionists. I can’t look at their nametags without envisioning the pins popping their implants and flooding the lobby with silicone. Who was the mullet man who stopped me? Rodent face? My thoughts flip to the conservation center. I love working with them…those wonderful…people—Rebecca, Brad, Sarah, and Josh. Dammit, if only she’d asked about them.

“No wonder Dad likes you. You’re just like him. You hate people when you can’t use them,” she says with an angry draw on her milkshake straw. Her cheeks hollow further. Would it be too much to ask for her face to implode or the drink to suck her inside the glass?

“Again, you chose to marry me and not co-parent. You can’t back out now.”

“Because of your deal with Daddy? Yeah, I know exactly why you’re all in. He bought you like he buys everyone else. When he makes you a billionaire, will you buy people too—place them around your table like fancy, talking chairs?”

“What’s wrong, spoiled little rich girl? Your plan spiraled out of your control? You can’t punish me for impregnating you if your father makes marrying you worth my while, yeah?”

Her eyes widen to saucers. She shakes her head so violently I fear it will fly off her shoulders. Chocolate spills over her fingers as she trembles. However, I’m the one in danger. Meaty fingers clamp around my neck from behind. Their thumb and fingertips meet at my trachea, threatening to smash my Adam’s apple to dust. I claw at them as I’m lifted from my seat.My knees knock the table over. Scalding tea and a dozen packets shower Amber, who screeches before jumping to her feet.

“Sweetness, are you burnt?” Rumbles a voice behind me. Giant black shitkickers stand between my flailing sneakers. A black halo forms around them as if we’re transported to a dream sequence in a cheap sitcom.

“Baby, please, I’m handling him,” Amber says, in a feminine voice I’ve never heard her use. “Put Horus down.”

“Not yet,” says the terrifying voice. He twists his wrist or maybe bends his elbow, because I’m rotated to face the ugliest man I’ve ever seen. His bald head is covered with a giant tattoo that isn’t quite straight, giving his head a lop-sided appearance. The wrinkles and scars compete for real estate on his face. Then there are the five blue stars under each beady, black eye, and ‘FUCK THIS’ tattooed over his nose. He has two silver teeth and a pierced tongue. I hit his beer belly as he shakes the life out of me.

I didn’t have ‘beaten up by a biker’ on my shitty life bingo card, but here we are.

“This man wants what’s mine,” he sneers.

“You can have it,” I croak. Tears pull my glasses down my nose. Only my dehydration keeps me from pissing myself. “Whatever it is. It’s yours. Money? I can get you money.”

“Please, baby,” Amber says, crossing the carnage of our table to tug on his elbow. “Look at me, Rash. Center yourself in my energy.”

I drop to a crouch. My fist squeezes the shirt over my heart while I wait for it to stop galloping for freedom. Above me, Amber takes Rash’s cheeks in her palms. They lean until theirforeheads touch with closed eyes. Rash smooths Amber’s arms before gathering her closer.

Air, sweet air! How I’ve missed you!

“Ouch!” My howl breaks their romantic moment when Amber steps on my fingers.

“I’m not going to stand by and let this dweeb take my family,” Rash grumbles.

“He’s not,” Amber says, leading him to the booth beside our mess. “Not anymore. I’m calling off the wedding to be with you. I love you and want to raise our daughter together.”

The couple sit on the same side in a tangle of arms. I’m sure as hell not sitting beside them, even though they left enough space for two more people. Sliding on errant sugar packets, I pour my bundle of locked muscles into the banket across from them. As I wipe sweat from my forehead and glasses, Rash sips from Amber’s milkshake. The way he sucks the spilled chocolate from her fingers makes her giggle…and me gag.

“Amber’s not marrying you because she’s my ol’lady. We’re as good as married already—been hitched for two years—”

“With all due respect, Mr. Rash—it’s Rash, isn’t it?—Amber, and I hooked up at the music fest months ago. There’s no way you’ve been together for two years…unless your sweetness has been adding sugar to more pudding than yours,” I say.

Amber grabs his wrist as Silvia steps up to the table with our food.

“There’s Rash! I wondered why Amber came in with this joker instead of her honey. Do you want the usual?” Silvia says, plunking my platter in front of me. Half my fries jump onto the table.

“Yes, please, Ms. Silvia, and give the joker the bill,” he says with a sparkly smile. When she walks away to replace my tea, the smile falls from Rash’s lips. “Do you think I gave you a chance to touch my woman without breaking off all your fingers like corncobs from the stalk?”

“I had trouble believing her story too, but Amber’s pregnancy doesn’t lie,” I say.

“I lied to you, Horus. I’m not going to our wedding because I’m running away with my baby’s real daddy. I’m joining his MC as his ol’lady,” Amber says, more to Rash than me.

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