Page 14 of Perdition (Unchained Hearts #4)

NINE

Sitting on the edge of his untouched bed in his clubhouse suite, Frost stared at the black, empty screen on the cell in his hands, and prayed to every god he could think of that his wife would call him back.

Or text.

Or smoke signal.

Or fucking carrier pigeon—anything!

He just wanted some sign that he hadn't completely ruined the best thing in his whole miserable, goddamn life!

After a miserable night where he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t take a full fucking breath, he was fucking unraveling.

This…this is what consequences feel like.

Behind him, laying in silent repose as if in death, was the property kutte he’d given his wife Eight years ago.

“Property of Frost” rocker on the back.

“Bloom” embroidered in white stitching on a patch over the right breast.

He’d given her that road name because everything she touched flourished, especially when she loved it.

Like their amazing kids. Him. The club. Her flower business.

And he’d taken that for granted, hadn’t he?

Her kutte was one of the first made for the club.

She had been there, from the beginning, as he built the club from nothing but a dream and a desperate need for brotherhood.

She had been there on those long nights, poring over legal jargon on real estate property contracts, trying to find the best place for them to start what would become the Unchained MC clubhouse.

Em was there when he and Patriot argued over bylaws, legit business plans, and what club discipline would look like.

Em was there…holding his hand, rubbing his neck and shoulders, making him food he sometimes forgot to eat, wrangling the kids so he could have quiet to work, and generally…

just being the best damn wife and club queen he could have ever asked for.

And he’d fucked it all up.

Now, he was sitting alone in a room his wife hadn’t stepped foot in in months, wondering where the fuck things had started falling apart.

Around the same time you started losing your goddamn balls.

Around the same time you lost your focus.

Around the same time you let your pride become more important than your family. Your wife. Your Bloom.

Motherfucker!

And now…he had no idea what to do next.

Em had made a perfectly clear statement when she tossed her property kutte—once her most precious possession—into the back of his Chevy with the rest of his shit like it meant nothing to her.

That was what had hit him the most; she was tossing away what amounted to years of her own efforts to help him build and grow the Unchained. She was saying that none of that mattered to her anymore…that being the club queen, the old lady to the club president, wasn’t the prize it had once been.

Like you’re a fucking prize right now, dumbass loser!

She was once so fucking proud to wear that kutte, ride on the back of his bike, and sit on his lap as his woman during club parties.

Now….

He hit the power button on the cell to wake up the screen, foolishly hoping that he’d somehow missed the sound and vibration of an incoming text.

The screen blinked on, and an invisible hammer clocked him in the solar plexus—his breath caught like God had snatched it from the air before he could inhale it.

With burning eyes, he stared down at the home screen image; a picture of him and Em, snuggled up, her back to his chest, his arms around her, and they were…

smiling. Her grin was so big it was blindingly beautiful, and her eyes were so lit up, he could feel the love and happiness even from a flat image.

And him, with his woman in his arms…he’d looked fucking enraptured, like he couldn’t believe that a goddess from the heavens would come down and let him hold her.

His smile was wide, his eyes were fucking twinkling, and he was staring at Emily so hard, with such awe and intent… .

That’s how it had once been between them. The joy, the content, the happiness, the laughter, the love, the desire and want and need….

Where had it all gone?

It didn’t go anywhere, asshole, you just lost it because you had your head stuck so far up your ass you couldn’t see it fading away.

A knock on the door jarred him from his thoughts, and he grunted a curse. Tossing the cell to the bed, he stood and strode to the door, ready to tear the asshole out of whoever dared fucking bother him after the night he’d had.

Unlocking the door, the pulled it open with enough force it slammed back into the wall, more than likely leaving a dent in the drywall.

Standing in the hallway, her face pale, her eyes wide, her hands clutching a brown paper bag like it was life, was Sarah.

Apparently, he’d scared her.

Good.

He wasn’t in the mood for her and whatever drama she was bringing that morning.

Hell, it wasn’t even 7 AM, and he already felt like shit warmed over.

“F-Frost?” Sarah blabbered, pressing a hand to her chest. A chest, he noticed, that was nearly on full display. Why was she wearing a crop top with what looked like a barely there bikini so early in the fucking morning? Was she headed for a day on the lake? Or was that for his benefit?

Sure, she had great tits, but she had nothing on Em.

Em’s tits were fuller, plumper, and they tasted like fucking heaven in his mouth.

Even after the twins were born, and they’d grown just a little less firm than before, he loved the hell out of them.

How could he not? Those breasts fed his babies, giving life sustaining nutrients to his most precious creations; the two people he wouldn’t hesitate to murder for.

Also, those breasts had been a soft landing place for him on nights when things were so fucking heavy, he could barely keep his head up.

Also…they were just so fucking pretty, so perfectly fit to his hands, he knew God had handcrafted them just for Madsen Flowers.

Like an unearned, undeserved gift…one he’d squandered when he should have been worshipping them.

Even better, they were a gift no one else had seen or touched, just him. Em had only ever been his, as he’d only ever been hers. They were each other’s one and only, and to him that meant something.

It used to mean something to Em, too, until you messed that up by giving Sarah the time of day and leaving your wife out in the wind and rain like a stray dog.

Crossing his arms over this chest, he stared at the woman outside his bedroom door, and drawled, “What do you need, Sarah?”

That was it. No soft words. No placation.

At his tone and his less than welcoming stance, Sarah drew back. She wasn’t used to the hard and chilling Frost.

Yeah, he was a dumbass, but he was capable of learning from his mistakes. Even if it felt too little to fucking late.

Sarah, quickly recovered, smiled her usual bright and charming smile—the kind of smile that usually made him feel like a million bucks just to see it. Damn, he was a dipshit.

“I just wanted to check on you; you haven’t been texting me back, and I was worried about you,” Sarah said, a strange breathiness to her voice that made him frown.

Had she always sounded like that?

She took a step closer, reaching out to put a hand on his arm.

He stiffened, pulling back.

Wrongness. A twisting in his gut. That’s what he felt when he realized she was all too comfortable just touching the Unchained president like she had a fucking right.

“I was busy, Sarah. I didn’t have time to reply,” he said, his tone matching the chill in his veins.

The breathy voice, the touching, the audacity to come to his room in his own fucking clubhouse without first seeking permission…yeah. He’d let things go too far.

And now he was eating up all the fucking regret like month old rotten eggs and spoiled milk.

Sarah’s smile slipped. Her gaze dropped to something behind him, and when she met his gaze once more, her entire expression changed. Bright charm to temptress. Like a fucking light switch.

“I know you’ve been busy, and I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help you, you know, lighten the load.

” She blinked up at him, her eyes going heavy, that smile seeming to turn coy.

She reached out again, her hand headed for her chest. “You know, you’ve been so tense, Frost… I could…I could help you with that.”

The fuck?

He stepped back. His mouth tightening. His body pulsing will ill tidings and guilt.

It was his fault that Sarah felt she had the right to touch him, to speak to him like that, to offer him something he would only ever accept from his old lady.

Curious, he turned to look over his shoulder, immediately spotting what had made Sarah go from Jekyll to Hyde.

Em’s kutte.

Shit!

Sarah saw something she shouldn’t—Emily’s kutte where it wasn’t supposed to be—and now she was thinking all sorts of things he knew his brothers were going to chew his ass about, because they’d been warning him, hadn’t they?

Sarah was not Emily.

It was too bad he’d realized his fuck up too late.

Not too late—it can’t be. Em just needs time, and I need to fix what I broke.

“If I’m tense it’s because I’m here instead of at home with my woman, a woman I did wrong yesterday by letting you flap your gums about shit that doesn’t have anything to do with you.

My wife overheard you yesterday, and she also didn’t hear me tellin’ you that you were full of shit.

So, now I’m in the goddamn doghouse with my old lady, and I’m not feelin’ all that charitable to you. ”