Page 76 of Redemption (Brazen Bulls Birthright 1)

Her gaze landed on the paper bag, and Eight could practically hear her thoughts. Goddamn. He’d really expected a different reaction to the money. Then again, he should have known Marcella would start with suspicion. She always did.

“And before you get offended,” she continued as if she’d heard his thoughts, too, “you yourself told me it worries you for being in Ajax’s life.”

She hadn’t yelled, and it wasn’t unexpected, but yep, that was hard to hear. “And you told me I’m the father he has, so we should work around that part of my life.”

“And I meant it. But there’s a difference between you being in his life part-time, on weekends or whatever, and you being inourlives full-time. That’s pulling us all the way into your shit. I need to keep him safe. The world will be hard enough for him as it is.”

What was he feeling right now? He wasn’t offended, exactly. Nothing she’d said was wrong, or even particularly harshly spoken. He was an outlaw. In most people’s minds, hell, in hisownmind, he was a bad guy. Certainly, he wasn’t very good; he didn’t really know if he could be a decent person, despite Mo’s faith in him.

He guessed what he felt was … guilt? Shame? Yeah, that was it—and fuck that. Worst feeling in the world. He needed it to stop.

Identifying the source of the sick, soupy feeling in his gut, Eight’s first impulse was to blow the conversation up. All of this was a terrible idea—one of his worst ever. He should tell Marcella to get the fuck out of his house, and go back to forgetting she and Ajax existed. Safer for everybody.

But then she asked, “Can you be sure to keep him safe from the shit you do, and its costs?”

In that question Eight realized she wanted the same thing he wanted—and he did want it. She was just afraid, and trying to be sensible. He considered that for a moment, worked out what that meant, and what he might say to give her the assurance she needed.

He could say the truth. “There’s a lot of kids in the Bulls family, Marce. Shit, there’s twenty-two kids in the youngest generation. Twenty-three, including Ajax.”

Two of those—the Jessup boys—wore a patch now, and Duncan was another, but he decided to hold that truth back. The idea that his son might someday seek a patch himself had just occurred to Eight, and a bolt of electric excitement went through him. But he didn’t think Marcella would have the same reaction.

“All those kids are safe and happy and always have been, Marce. We take care of our family.”

Her gaze sharpened. “Danger never touches them?”

“Almost never.” That was actually true as well. During the bad Perro days, they’d locked down a couple times, pulling the family together at the clubhouse to make sure they stayed whole, but that was to keep them safe. The Bulls protected their loved ones. “Every once in a while, shit with the club gets intense, but we keep our family safe. That’s a promise, Marce. And a whole truth.” He leaned close to say the next bit as emphatically as he could. “You say the world will be hard for him because of who he is. Well, he’s got the Brazen Bulls MC at his back now, and we’re a goddamn army. That’ll be true whether you and me work or not.”

Again, she searched his eyes, and again, Eight saw that she was trying to forge a path to what she wanted, which was the same thing he wanted.

“I’m no good at relationships either, Eight. Every time I’ve tried, it’s blown up in my face. I fight too much for most guys, I think. I don’t let shit slide.”

That wasn’t a no. She was practically begging him to answer her worries and push them aside. Eight perked up a little, leaned closer. “I like fighting with you.”

She laughed. “Well, then, you’re a twisted fucker.”

He answered her laugh with a grin. “That’s established fact. Maybe we’ll work together because we don’t work with anybody else.”

Again, she considered him, but this time, Eight didn’t feel the judgment—at least not in the same way. She was sizing him up, not condemning him.

So he did something he hoped was a thing a decent guy would do: he reached over and set his hand on hers. He felt that same zing, like a chemical reaction.

“I will protect my family, Marcella.”

Her eyes darted down at once, focusing on his hand. When she looked up again, a light frown creased her brow. She really was hot. More than that, she was actually, truly beautiful.

“If we try this”—something in Eight’s chest inflated at her words—“you gotta rein in the whole ‘asshole for the fun of it’ thing you’ve got going. That’s only fun for you. And I swear to fuck, Eight, one racist word or deed and we’re done. I can appreciate you trying to turn the page here, but I am not a lab rat for you to test out a new and improved version of yourself. Nor am I a pitstop on your self-discovery journey. Neither is Ajax. You stick, and you deal with your demons on your own time.”

“I got no demons.”

She rolled her eyes. “There’s scars on your belly and your feet that say otherwise.”

He hated even the mention of his scars, but he took a breath and said, “That shit’s not buried. I know it for what it is.”

“If that’s true, okay. But at the least, it seems you’re trying to deal with it in a different way—and that’s good. I’m just sayin’, if we give this a go, I got some terms: you think about what you say and do before you say or do it. You treat me like you care. You keep us safe from your biker bullshit. And you don’t fuck around on me.”

“That’s all fair. I got some terms, too.”

With a cock of her head and a lift of her eyebrows, she waited to hear what he had to say.

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