Page 32 of Perdition
But Frost knew his wife wasn’t sick…at least not physically.
She was heartsick. Sick of him. Sick of his bullshit.
And he was right there with her.
And he had no one to blame but himself.
He needed to find Em, to explain—how to explain, that was the hardest part. He still had no idea where he fucked up, he just knew that he had. And he’d fucked up royally.
So royally that even the men who swore to respect him and follow him into the fires of Hell were all disappointed in him.
His son was disappointed in him.
And from the radio silence from his baby girl, his daughter was disappointed in him.
Sorsha was sweetness, sass, and serial killer, all rolled into one petite, adorable package. She was shy, thoughtful, not given to outbursts of anger, but when you riled her up, when you came at someone she loved, the rabid Chihuahua came out—all high-pitched barking, rage shaking, and snapping teeth.
As if summoned from the depths, his phone rang.
“Brown-Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison.
Unlike her parents and brother, who all had blue eyes, Sorsha got her maternal grandmother’s sweet brown eyes.
Brown eyes that could turn as frosty as his blue ones when appropriately pissed.
His blue eyes, a color between ice and ocean, were known to chill a man to the bone when he was pissed. Frost was a name he’d picked up while in the service, and he’d carried that name into the Unchained MC with pride.
Answering his phone, he wasn’t surprised to hear his baby girl command in that usually sweet voice of hers, “You’d better make this right, Dad! Mom didn’t tell me everything, but she told me enough that I’m so mad at you I can spit—and you know how much I hate spit.”
Yes. Yes he did. His princess thought all bodily fluids were gross. Recoiling when anyone sneezed or said the word “moist.”
“Yeah, baby girl, I do,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. “And I know I messed up with your mom, and I’m gonna make it right, okay? This isn’t something you need to worry about—it’s between me and your mom, and once she and I get a chance to sit down and talk, things will look a whole lot better.”
God, he fucking hoped he wasn’t talking out his ass.
More than anything, he was desperate to find Em. To look her in the eyes and tell her he was an asshole, that he was sorry, that he wanted to make things right between them.
But he had to find her first.
“I just left the shop,” Frost supplied, hoping his daughter had knowledge he didn’t.
Thankfully, she delivered.
“Yeah, she’s at Aunt Cheri’s place. They got drunk last night, so Mom’s hurting today. But I think she’s not planning to do much other than drink non-alcoholic fluids and watch her soppy shows.”
Frost could hear the eyeroll through the phone.
Sorsha, unlike her mother, wasn’t into movies and TV. She was all about books.
Em was at Cheri’s. Good. That meant she was safe, and that she hadn’t been alone last night. However…Cheri was a wild card. That woman would probably castrate him on sight.
Groaning, Frost rubbed the ache building at the back of his neck.
“Thank you, baby girl, I’ll head over there.”
“Nuh uh, Dad. Give her today to just be without the drama. She needs this. Don’t go stomping over there with your demands, alpha biker pheromones, and sorry excuses.”
His brows snapped up at his daughter’s militant command.
