Page 43 of Wild Side
“Zadie,” he calls out.
I blink. He searches my eyes for a moment, then closes the distance between us as Goose steps to the side. However, he doesn’t go far. I still want to thank him, even if he likely won’t accept the appreciation. I’ll have to wait for the right time and place, though, because this is not it.
Maverick cups my cheek gently. The move surprises me. It’s not that he’s gently touching me, or that he’s doing it in front of my father, but because the expression on his face is not gentle in any way whatsoever. It’shard.
“Claimed you, Zadie. You’re mine.”
I know what those words mean. I may not understand the depth of them, but I know what they mean, at least on a surface level.
Claiming me means that I’m protected by the club. I’m also untouchable to the other members of the Reapers.
What I don’t know is the details of what that means as far as the context of our personal relationship, but again, it is not the time or place to ask questions like that. So I don’t ask anything yet. I will, but for now, I look into Maverick’s eyes.
He dips his chin in a single nod before he clears his throat. “And you’re staying here.”
End of conversation.
Here I stay then.
Except I’m not sure if that’s what I want. I don’t know him that well, I don’t have a job here, and I won’t be able to findanother one anytime soon. Before I can comment, I hear my father clear his throat, then he grunts.
Maverick’s hand drops as he slowly turns to face him, his hand shifting, his arm curling around my waist as he pulls me against his side. I try to stay loose and relaxed, but I know my muscles stiffen at the move, or maybe it’s at the way my father is peering at me. I’m not sure.
“I leave here without you, Zadie, that’s it. Don’t come crawling back to me when this shit doesn’t work out.”
Pressing my lips tightly together, I try hard not to comment on what my dad has just said. I want to be such a smart-ass to him. I don’t know what he thinks he does for me now, but I don’t think even if I failed living next door to him, I would ask him for help.
My father washed his hands of actually parenting me when I was about ten years old, maybe even before that. But I’ve lived in a constant state of being his brand of perfect that I haven’t been living. I’ve been modeling the behavior he expected from me.
Stay away from the club.
Be a good girl.
Do as I’m told.
Never bother him.
Never be a bother to anyone.
Work and take care of myself, but always with the mindset of,What would my father think of this behavior?
And never, ever, expect a damn thing from him.
If that is the help he’s referring to keeping from me… he can have it. He can keep it. He can swim in it until he drowns. I don’t want it. Maybe it’s a mistake to move all the way across the country for a stranger and have a baby with him, but maybe, just maybe, it will be the best decision of my life.
MAVERICK
Halo is fucked up.
Beyond fucked up.
I can’t look away from him. The fact that he’s so quick to write his own child off. That he had his hands on her, the redness on her neck. It makes me sick. Even if Zadie and I don’t work out, she will never have to go back to him. My pride wouldn’t let that happen. I will always take care of her, of my kid—always.
“Thank you,” Zadie finally says. Her voice is strong, her attention focused on her father and only her father.
His brows snap together, no doubt confused by those two simple words. He doesn’t say anything, though. Instead, his lips twitch into a smirk as he waits for her to continue. I know he thinks he’s won, but he hasn’t won shit.
“Thank you for releasing me,” Zadie continues.
