Page 4 of Perdition (Unchained Hearts #4)

THREE

The moment he crossed the threshold into the conference room and spotted every club officer seated at the table, glaring, he knew what their little “meeting” was about.

Sarah—more accurately, him and Sarah. He hadn’t missed the looks they’d all been shooting him, especially when he and Sarah were in the same room.

It didn’t help that he’d been seen by two of the brothers doing things with Sarah they apparently didn’t appreciate.

Not once had he crossed the line with the woman, but he could see how sitting close, touching her, and even holding her in his arms to offer her emotional support could be misconstrued as something more intimate.

He also hadn’t missed how pissed the brothers were with him regarding his behavior toward Em—but they hadn’t even bothered asking him what she’d been doing, or rather not doing, for the last year.

It's hard for her to be a housewife if you’re never fucking home, dipshit!

Fighting the urge to growl and punch each asshole in their face, he didn’t let his feet hesitate to carry him forward.

He had nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of.

He’d done nothing wrong…not really. He might be a goddamn motherfucker about many things, but he wasn’t disloyal to Em, no matter what these men thought of him.

You must have done something wrong for your most loyal brothers to look at you like you’re a piece of shit.

And the fact that they’d all gathered, to lecture him, like some sort of fucked up MC intervention? Yeah, that rankled. These men were his brothers—ride or die, and they were looking at him like he’d stabbed them in the back.

Stopping at the head of the table, he glowered at each of them, but the assholes only glowered back, their stubborn jaws set, their frames tense, and determination in their eyes.

Goddamn it.

Biting back a curse, he crossed his arms. “This is bullshit, and you know it,” he barked.

“And it’s bullshit that you think this is bullshit when we all know this is a goddamn problem,” Patriot replied, anger in his voice.

He growled, “And what, exactly, do you think is a problem? And don’t forget, I’m your fucking president.”

Locust snorted, his expression etched with anger and disappointment.

“We haven’t forgotten you’re our president, Frost, matter fact, the only reason you haven’t been laid out ten times over is because you’re our president, a man we’ve all looked up to, respected, handed our lives and loyalty to.

We would kill and die for you, brother.” Every one of them grunted and nodded, their gazes pinned to him as if they were peeling back his layers to see the truth beneath.

“And I think I speak for each of us when I say that when I pledged myself to this club, to you, I also pledged that same loyalty to Emily, your wife, the queen of the Unchained MC.”

Again, each man grunted, nodding, this time their expressions softened, as their thoughts filled with Emily. His Emily.

Redtube, club secretary and tech guru, leaned forward, planting his forearms on the table.

“What I saw when I walked into your office….” He shook his head, disappointment in the droop of his shoulders.

“The way you two were so fucking cozy, like two lovers in a goddamn romantic interlude, touching each other, all gentle and shit,” he sneered.

“If Emily had walked in instead of me, you’d be picking up your shit from your lawn, and dealing with splitting your assets, ‘cause she’d divorce your ass so fast your head would spin. ”

A horse couldn’t kick him any harder than those words did.

Divorce?

No, that wouldn’t fucking happen—they had it all wrong!

“I can see by that look on your face that you think you’re the injured party here, that we’re making something out of nothing, but that’s so goddamn distorted, it might as well be a fun house mirror,” Patriot exclaimed, his voice uncharacteristically loud as his emotions lead him.

Shit. For Patriot, all calm, cool, and ice under fire, to raise his voice….

Goddammit!

A surge of helplessness, confusion, frustration, and fear coiled in his guts, pushing out words he never thought he’d ever say.

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” Frost snapped, shoving his hands through his hair. “I just…when I look at Sarah…I see how Emily and I used to be. How we were before all the bullshit of life aged us. I wanted that feeling again…that piece of my life from before it all got so serious.”

There was nothing wrong with wanting to remember simpler times—it wasn’t like he was making out with Sarah under the red maple tree, for fuck’s sake!

Things were simpler, easier, back in the beginning…under that red maple….

Back before the stress of twins, deployment, then founding an MC had become common in his life. Back before the ups and downs of marriage—they’d still been babies when they’d taken their vows, with so much hope and so little life experience. Back before life hardened him…and Em.

Back when they’d first started dating, before the pregnancy and wedding, things had been fun, carefree, so fucking easy.

Fuck, I miss that. Miss what life was like before it got so fucking serious.

Back before marriage to Em became…tepid. Lukewarm where it had once been blazing. Common where it had once been precious. Comfortable where it had once been exciting.

His heart jerked in alarm at that thought.

Where the hell had all of that come from? Was that really what he thought? What he wanted? Was he really making an excuse that Sarah was, somehow, Emily’s…what? Replacement? Upgrade? Some kind of embodied time machine that could bring back what he thought was somehow missing?

Again, something coiled in his guts, but this time it burned like a motherfucker.

“You’re trying to pick and choose the bits and pieces you want to enjoy?” Locust asked, his lips curled up in disgust. “Like, you want only the good parts rather than all the parts that make up what you’ve built with Emily—good, bad, painful, and fucking amazing?”

Fuck. Is that what he wanted?

Before he could even utter another flaccid I don’t know , Patriot shifted on his feet, drawing Frost’s attention.

“That’s bullshit, brother,” Patriot remarked, disappointment dripping from his words.

“That’s like having the most beautiful, delicious cake right on the table in front of you, but you’re staring longingly at the sugar in the bowl—the part that makes it sweet without any of the other stuff that is necessary to make the fucking cake. ”

“What the fuck is it with cake analogies?” Red groused, his face pinched.

Patriot ignored him and kept right on riding Frost’s ass. “You’re wanting easy without the work.”

Tornado piped in, “Pretty sure you got to beat the eggs to make a cake.”

All the men nodded, like Tornado had just handed down gospel truth.

Maybe you just stopped appreciating what you had. Maybe you just pushed her away because you think she pushed you away first. Maybe it’s pride and not nostalgia.

“Consider this,” Patriot began, “what if the roles were reversed and you walked into Em’s office at the flower shop, and she was cozied up with some other guy, curled into one another, talking all soft and shit, staring into each other’s eyes?—”

“I never crossed the line with Sarah, never!” Frost snapped, making Patriot’s eyes narrow.

“You don’t consider sitting close, in intimate distance, touching another woman, offering another woman comfort, letting her touch you, lean against you as lines crossed?” Red asked, incredulous.

Frost bit back a curse, grinding his teeth together so hard, his jaw ached.

“I never touched her like I’d touch Em, I never kissed her, offered her anything I wouldn’t offer my sister, and I sure as hell haven’t fucked her—so, no, I haven’t crossed any fucking lines with Sarah!”

Muted memories of Sarah, not Em, leaning back against the bark of a red maple tree, his and Em’s red maple tree just the day before, bubbled in his mind.

That coiling in his guts burned hotter, deeper.

Locust snorted, the sound one of disbelief. “What the fuck do you call it, then?”

“We’re just friends, asshole, that’s it,” Frost replied, the words weak even to his own ears.

Locust snorted again. “Friends? Yeah, if I was that friendly with a woman that wasn’t Nadia, you sure as fuck would find me with my heart cut out and my Harley mangled beyond all recognition.

” Locust leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms, his gaze frozen—and just as cold—on Frost. “And I can say that same thing for Patriot and Cilla, and Red and Val—none of us would ever let some other woman take up as much time and space in our lives as our women. I mean, fuck, when was the last time you even saw your wife, Prez?”

Words stalled on his tongue as his mind whirred into action…then ground to a halt. He hadn’t spoken to Em in three days, and he hadn’t seen her in nearly—fuck!—two weeks! How the hell did that happen? How had he gone two fucking weeks without seeing his wife, the woman who owned him, body and soul?

Oh, she owns you? Right, that’s why these assholes are riding you about Sarah, because you’re the devoted husband who only ever thinks about your one and only wife. Fuck, that voice was sharp and snarly as hell.

He could barely get the words out, but he forced them between two suddenly very dry lips. “Two weeks.”

Curses all around.

Red whistled, shaking his head, his penetrating gray-hazel eyes turned to lasers, burning through him.

“And in those two weeks, how often did you… offer Sarah your brother services, since she’s so much like your sister and all?”

Frost was well aware of the tilted meaning of the words Red emphasized.