Page 17 of Perdition (Unchained Hearts #4)

He chuckled. “Did you just make a Game of Thrones reference?” he asked, fully willing to acknowledge that he’d watched the show with Em, as dedicated to the plot and characters as any diehard. That show was the shit—at least until the last season.

“Yes—but the books, not the show,” Sorsha admitted in a haughty tone.

He chuckled again, smiling for the first time in two days. “Right.” He sobered quickly at her next words.

“I love you, Daddy…but you did wrong,” Sorsha asserted, a sadness in her voice he’d never heard before.

You’ve never hurt her mom before—not like that, at least. He wasn’t perfect; their marriage wasn’t perfect, and he wasn’t a perfect parent. For the first time in his baby girl’s short life, her daddy had done something that disappointed her. And it crushed him.

War was no different; telling his dad, a man he looked up to, that he wasn’t happy with how he’d hurt his momma.

His voice thick, cracking, he replied, “I know, baby.”

“Make it right.”

She ended the call before he could tell her he loved her, too.

And again, that crushed him.

His baby girl was mad at him, disappointed in him, and wary of him. She’d lost trust in him, her faith in him as a man, as a father, as a husband had failed.

And he could guess—correctly—that Em was feeling the same way.

“Fuck,” he spat, right before the cell in his hand began to ring again.

When he checked the screen, he cursed again.

Sarah.

Motherfuck.

He hit IGNORE, then headed toward where he parked his bike, feeling lost.

In the forty years of his life, he’d never, not once, known what he was supposed to be doing, what his next steps were. Even as a teen, he knew he wanted to join the Army, then he wanted to use what he’d learned to start a business, raise a family.

With Emily.

Even before they’d become a couple, it had been Emily.

He just hadn’t known it until years later, when she was laying on his chest, both of them bare, both of them sweating after two rounds of hard, frantic fucking—the kids had just gone to bed, he’d just come home on leave from Fort Drum, and he and Emily were making up for lost time.

There was almost four years between them, and that had never bothered him before, but he knew, even back then, that when he was looking at eighteen, and she was still fourteen, people wouldn’t be too keen about him paying too much attention to her.

But it hadn’t been like that between him and Emily, not then.

They’d grown up together; their grandparents were neighbors and friends, and Em and her family would be over all the time, especially during the summer when she was out of school.

They lived in a rural area, so there wasn’t much to do, and there weren’t many people their age to hang with, so more often than not, Em and Mads would spend long days together, just the two of them, getting themselves in and out of trouble.

He was the older one, so he made sure she never really got hurt, because it was his job to keep her safe.

Keep her happy. And Em’s smiles, even on her twelve-year-old face, lit him up so bright on the inside he nearly burst with it.

It was still that way. Except now, her smiles were so far and few in between, he was pale, lifeless, and wasting away in the darkness where he light used to shine.

When Em hit fourteen, his feelings were still platonic—they were best friends, neighbors, confidantes, and dream weavers.

He couldn’t remember how many nights they’d lain in the grass outside the old barn and spun stories about what their lives would be like.

Each dream, each story, was a little different, but one thing about them always stayed the same.

Em was in his stories.

Mads was in Em’s stories.

They were always together, the two of them, no matter where they dreamed life would take them.

And now, because of his pride, his arrogance, and his ignorance he was on the edge of losing those dreams. Of losing his greatest dream come true.

Emily.

The cell vibrating in his hand brought stole his thoughts, and he hesitated, dread filling him, before he checked the screen.

Redtube: Property valuation came back. Left it on your desk.

Shit. With all the fuckery he was dealing with—fuckery of his own making—he’d forgotten that he was waiting on the property valuation for the old clubhouse property in Erie.

It was the Bone Dogz old compound, and it probably wasn’t worth the paper the valuation was printed on.

It was two acres of patchy grass, cracked asphalt, and rusty buildings.

The only thing that wasn’t covered in rust and regret was the president’s cabin, a private building Mad Dog had built using club funds in order to hide all the dirty dealings he was doing behind his brother’s backs.

This valuation, and then putting the property up for sale, was one step closer to finally putting the patch over behind him.

Fuck, he just wanted it to be over and done so he could focus on moving the Unchained MC forward.

Like that’s the only reason. You know this patch over has been slow, vicious poison in your marriage…because you’re too fucking proud and arrogant to let your brothers—men you supposedly trust—take part of the burden.

Fuck. He was all the way fucked up, and he was just now realizing it.

Bullshit. You knew, you just needed a ferocious kick in the ass to dislodge your head, and finally see the damage you’re inflicting on the people who love you.

Hissing in frustration at his own thoughts, he hit SEND on his reply.

The_Prez: Got it. I’m headed back now.

Because where the hell else could he go? He wanted to drive to Cheri’s place, pound the door down, snatch Em, and take her somewhere where she’d be forced to listen to him. Then, he’d tear off her clothes, make her come in his mouth, then wring his cock dry—twice.

Yeah, probably a good idea to take Sorsha’s advice, and give Em some space.

Because if he stormed over there right then, he knew Em would cut off his dick and feed it to him.

At that thought, instead of cringing, he cracked a smile. Em was a firecracker; all strength, sass, and determination. He could imagine her, knife in hand, glaring at him, and him cupping his balls in fear, his cock hard as a rock….

His wife was sexy as fuck any given day of the fucking week, but when that woman got truly riled up, she was like a fucking goddess—she glowed with an inner fire and innate sensuality that never failed to turn him on.

He couldn’t count the number of times he’s started a fight with her just to make the sex hard, fast, and animalistic—all claws and teeth.

Afterward, they were never surprised that they’d damaged or broken something in their savage hunger for one another.

At just the memory of their apex sex, his cock was thickening in his jeans, weeping for a pussy it hadn’t slid inside in far too long.

Maybe…maybe he should go to Cheri’s place and bang down the door—a pissed Emily was a horny Emily.

Usually.

Goddamn, he was sick in the head.

Fuck, he loved her.

He missed her.

He really fucked up with her.

Before he could mount his bike, a police cruiser SUV pulled up into the spot right next to him.

South Abington PD.

He was parked legally. He had a valid driver’s license. The registration on his bike was up to date, and he had kept his ass and hands clean for most of this life.

He didn’t count the shit he’d done for Uncle Sam.

The driver’s side door swung open, and a piece of shit, arrogant little prick with a badge slid out, his aviators and smirk firmly in place.

He slammed the door shut, tugged up his utility belt—making sure to flash the Glock 19 strapped to it—and turned just right so that the badge on his chest glinted in the afternoon sun.

The little shit.

Frost bit back a very impolite greeting, knowing that no matter what he said or how he said it, the man before him would find a way to be offended.

Because the man standing before him was Sgt. Bradley Copper.

The man who’d been sniffing around his Em.

A man, Frost couldn’t help but feel, was going to become a real pain in his ass.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Flowers,” Sgt. Fuckface drawled, all nonchalant, like he hadn’t been throwing game at a married woman.

An older married woman at that. Not that Em looked a day older than twenty-five.

That woman was still as delicious and mouthwatering as barrel-aged Kentucky bourbon—his favorite drink.

Em was still fine as hell at thirty-six, with her lush curves, her beautiful face, and big heart.

So it wasn’t a surprise that men of every age were drooling after her.

But Em was his.

So fuck Bradley Copper, with his smirk, his gun, and his badge.

“Sgt. Copper,” he drawled right back, “what brings you ‘round here? Doesn’t seem like your kind of place.”

The asshole’s smirk only grew.

“Every man needs a great florist, especially when he wants to send the woman he’s interested in a beautiful bouquet.” He crossed his arms, perma-smirk in place, and said, “I really like the flowers here; gorgeous, fragrant, vibrant, and ready to be picked—for the right occasion.”

Frost’s jawed ached from how hard he was grinding his teeth, holding back on committing a felony. He couldn’t apologize to Em from behind the bars at Lackawanna County Jail.

“I agree,” he ground out, “the flowers here are beautiful and fragrant, but I’d be careful about which ones you pick…someone else might already own them.”

Sgt. Asswipe chuckled, dropping his hands to tuck his thumbs into his belt.

Frost couldn’t stop himself from giving the officer a cursory once over. Tall. Built. Maybe mid-twenties. Golden boy. Captain America. Probably ate injustice for breakfast.

He probably had a tiny dick, with all the macho bravado he was throwing around like confetti.

Is this the kind of man Em would go for?

Hell, he didn’t know. She’d only ever been with him, had always said that he was her dream man, her fantasy, the only man who ever got her wet and needy. The only man who would ever have her body and her heart.

Sadly, he could no longer say the same, could he?

Because he’d given parts of himself—parts that Em alone had once owned—to another woman. Parts that he was desperate to claw back.

“No worries,” Sgt. MicroPenis exclaimed, “I only pick the ones that have been left too long, drooping and growing dim while waiting to be chosen. I pick those, give them tender love and attention, and they perk right up.”

This motherfucker.

Frost was many things, but an idiot wasn’t one.

All evidence to the contrary, dummy! Since you’re having a thinly veiled conversation with an upstart looking to steal your woman because you’ve been neglecting her and your marriage.

His body vibrating with the need to do violence, Frost nearly broke into pieces when his cell began to ring again, the sound nearly shattering him from the tension.

Frost checked the screen.

Sarah.

Fuck.

Sgt. ButtPimple hummed, then tsked. “Better get that. Might be important.”

Before Frost could hit IGNORE or tell Sgt. Nutsack to mind his own business and leave his fucking wife alone, the fuckface strode into Flower’s Blooms.

As the door swung shut behind the younger man, Frost couldn’t stop the dread, that wary knowledge, that Sgt. Bradley Copper wasn’t just going to stop.

Goddammit!

His desperate task to win Em back had just gotten harder.

If only he knew.