Page 17 of Perdition
Fuck, he needed to get out of there, get home, sit down with Em…and…andwhat?
Hell, he had no idea where to even start.
Maybe tell her you love her, miss her, and that you’re an asshole piece of shit for basically ghosting her for?
He typed out a quick text, taking a moment to reflect on the name Em had programmed into his contact profile.
MyMads: I’ll be home tonight. I miss you.
Simple. Informative. Honest—because, goddamn, he missed his wife.
You should have been homeeverynight, and then you wouldn’t been staring down the barrel of a club mutiny and a marriage in trouble.
Marriage in trouble? Is that what he was facing?
You think, dumbass?
After the intervention in the conference room, as sort of a perversion of their usual weekly Church, he’d been ignoring texts from Sarah, who was concerned about his lack of response to her previous five texts that day, and the last two holdovers, Mig and Moses, for the patch over, who were demanding a larger percentage of the overall club income. Honestly, Frost wouldn’t have minded giving them the 3% of revenue every non-officer member received; they were skilled labor and had brought the Bone Dogz MC plenty of business as freelance electricians. However, their attitude, that they were owed that money without having even sworn loyalty to the Unchainedfirst? That smacked of entitlement, and neither Frost nor Patriot had the patience for grown-ass brats stomping their feet and demanding shit without first putting in the work. Hell, even his nineteen-year-old twins knew they had to work for what they wanted; hadn’t been handed a damn thing in their lives. They even demanded they get to have jobs so they could pay for part of their own tuition and living expenses, even though their parents were well off enough to send them both to a six-year college without breaking a sweat.
Even before Em opened her business, they hadn’t been hurting for money. Since he’d founded the Unchained MC, there’d been more than enough opportunity for legit income, so they’d opened businesses, ran them with integrity and loyalty, and the money rolled in.
Money he’d used to buy their house, and then to help Emily open her flower shop.
Fuck.
Emily. His Bloom.
Heaving a sigh that seemed to come from his fucking feet, he checked his phone, once again—like a compulsion—for a message from his wife, a response to his text.
Nothing.
And there hadn’t been anything in several days.
What the fuck?
In the last several months, Sarah had texted him more often than his own wife had…and the brothers wondered why he’d been paying Sarah more attention—because she was making it impossible tonotpay attention to her. She was in his face, all the time. And, if he were honest, he enjoyed having her attention, too. At least she was reaching out to him, talking to him, spending time and energy on him…unlike Emily. His old lady. His wife.
Shit…he sounded like a pouty little bitch.
Scrubbing his hand down his face, he grimaced at the roughness of his jaw and chin. Usually, he was clean shaven, since Emily enjoyed it.
“You have the face of a book cover model, babe. Sharp cheek bones, strong chin…you are too yummy to hide behind scruff.”He’d chuckled, then she’d smirked playfully, her fingers tracing his features with her natural sensuality. She’d pressed a lingering kiss to his chin, then his lips, and then they’d spent the next two hours with her telling him, without words, just how much she’d like his scruff-free face…by sitting on it.
But that was…well, that was more than five years ago.
Fuck.
Shoving his desk chair back under his desk, he pocketed his keys and cellphone, then dragged himself from his office, locking the door behind him. Again, he trusted his brothers, but it wasn’t just brothers that came and went from the clubhouse, and he was smart enough and wary enough to keep the important shit locked up.
Earlier that day, he’d gotten a notification on his phone that someone had entered his house, and since the alarm hadn’t gone off, telling him it was a break in, he knew it was either Em or one of the kids. Sorsha and War didn’t usually come home during the week since classes ran most days and they worked their part time jobs at night, so chances were that Emily was home.
It was a Thursday. During a typical week, she’d still be at work, grinding away until late, which meant the house was often empty. There was a reason he’d been spending more time at the clubhouse, crashing in his room on the top floor. When his wife wasn’t home…it didn’t feel like a home.
But Emily was home right now…and he hadn’t seen her in so long….
Fuck, he ached for missing her—and not just seeing her. He hadn’t even held his wife in…well, fuck…months. When was thelast time he’d even seen her naked? Touched her lush, curvy body, a body that still made him hard as fuck when just a flash of her soft, fragrant flesh?
Focusing on getting the fuck home and having a conversation—and hopefullymore—with his wife for the first time in weeks, he hurried through the common room, valiantly attempting to ignore the sight of Clusterfuck’s ass as he railed Marci over the pool table. The fucker was bare assed, thrusting like he was chasing something. Across the room, Patriot, Tornado, and Malo were sitting, heads together, around a table, their untouched beers in front of them.
