Page 66 of Filthy Secret

I step into the living room, and the door closes behind me, drowning out my mother’s shrill screams. I look at my son sitting on the sofa. He’s got his headphones on and is coloring on the coffee table.

This is who I live for. This little man right here, and he will never feel the wrath of a woman like my mother. Ever. He will always know love. And I know that we’re in a transition right now. I know he has trauma from everything that’s happened, but one thing he will always know is that I love him.

I love him, and I would die for him.

I live for him.

And I’m giving him something I never had.

A chance.

ATOMIC

Once she finishes screeching like a goddamn cat, I take a step toward her, then another. Ryan’s mom used to hang around the clubhouse when I was a teenager, at parties, but she was never a whore. The club wouldn’t have her ass, and although Ellen was a clubwhore for a while, it wasn’t for long before we sent her packing, too. These bitches are strung-out junkies and fucking worthless humans.

As much as I want to drag her behind the house and end this shit right now, I know there are probably people watching from behind their curtains, so I don’t do any of that. Instead, I make sure that she understands she is not welcome here.

Not in the goddamn slightest.

“Turn around. Walk away. Never come back. If I even get a whiff of you in the air,” I say, “I’ll fucking kill you.”

And that is that.

It’s my turn to spin around and walk into the house, not giving her a chance to respond, mainly because there is absolutely nothing she could say to me that I would listen to anyway. I move into the house and close the door behind me, locking it, then lift my gaze to my family and Nash.

“Well,” I say. “You packed?”

Ryan’s eyes slowly lift to mine, her lips curve up into a smile, and she dips her chin in a single nod. “I’m packed,” she whispers, then lifts her hand and points to the two bags sitting beside the front door.

“Then let’s get the fuck out of here,” I state.

It takes us about thirty minutes to get everyone out of the door and the house locked up. Once we’re in the car and Nash is on his bike, we drive off together, heading straight for the clubhouse. I’m not sure what I expect, maybe for Ryan’s mother to be following us, maybe for that pimp to jump out of nowhere, but none of it happens.

Ryan scrolls on her phone in the passenger seat, Adam smashes his cars together in the back seat, and I drive, wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. Because it will drop. I know it will. That motherfucker is watching me, playing with me. If that pimp didn’t send Ryan’s mother over as a distraction, I would be fucking shocked.

Staying alert, I continue toward the clubhouse, Nash in my rearview mirror. After turning down the gravel road to the clubhouse, I stop at the gate as the prospect dips his chin and opens it for me. I hear it click, it makes a loud moaning noise as it opens, and I move right through with Nash still close behind.

Once we’re on club grounds, I feel a sense of calm wash over me. I am home, my people are safe, and now I can get to work finding this motherfucker. Because that is what I’m going to do. I’m done fucking around. I’m done with guys looking for him at the pickup warehouse.

I am just done in general.

I have a woman and a son now. I’m ready to get to know them both. Ryan all over again and Adam for the first time.

Pulling up to the side of the building, I shift the car into Park and look behind me to Adam. He lifts his attention to mine, his eyes wide as they stare at me for a moment, then he smiles. He unbuckles his seat belt and stands up, lifting his hands and grabbing hold of my cheeks.

“Adam?” I ask. At the same time, Ryan reaches over and wraps her fingers around my wrist, unspeaking. I don’t know if it’s for a reason or just to show support. But I can’t look away from my son’s eyes, mainly because I’m seeing it for the first time. He has my dad’s eyes.

Fucking hell.

He doesn’t speak. He just looks at me, his eyes searching mine, and whatever he sees, he dips his chin in a single nod before he speaks. “Dad.”

“Dad,” I agree… confirm.

Whatever the fuck you want to call it.

Doesn’t matter.

I call him mine.