Page 16

What the absolute fuck?

A lady must always be presentable.

That’s some fucked-up shit, right there.

Birdie has always been fucking perfect the way she is.

I’ve never given a good goddamn about all that other shit.

I’ve always just wanted her. Makeup or not.

Hair flying everywhere. Hoodie and leggings, t-shirt and jeans, whatever the hell she wanted to wear.

I don’t even need to imagine the kind of fucking clothes a proper lady must wear. I have a pretty good idea considering the shit she showed up here in. She’s not realized yet that I got rid of those fucking clothes the same night they showed up.

My Birdie is in there somewhere, and I’ll be goddamned if I let this fucking version of her stick around here. I want my woman back, but more than that, I want our kids to experience that version of their mother. Because the Birdie I knew was such a magnificent fucking creature.

Come hell or high water, Birdie is going to give me that goddamn fire I love so much. Even if I have to fight with her every step of the way to bring it out.

She wants clothes to wear, I’ll make sure she has some, but I’ll be damned if it’s whatever bullshit she has in that piece of shit car.

Anger and frustration guides my movements as I pull some more clothes from my drawers.

When I have an armful, I march back down the stairs and into the kitchen.

She’s standing at the stove, creating something that smells fucking divine.

I don’t miss the way her shoulders tighten when I step into the room.

Hell, I don’t even need to be inside her head to know she’s working on putting those walls back up between us.

They won’t stay up for long. Not if I have anything to do with it.

She may fucking hate me right now, but I’m going to make her remember what it was like between us.

What loving each other feels like. But for now, I have enough love for her to carry the both of us until she deems me worthy of opening her heart up to me again.

Birdie finally turns to face me, her eyes dropping to the pile in my arms before peering back into my eyes. “What’s that?”

I toss them on the counter. “You’ve always belonged in my shit.”

“I’m sorry, but those aren’t proper clothes. What if you have company over? I don’t want them to think badly of you because of how I present myself.”

That’s . . . fucking . . . it.

My brain warns me that this is a bad idea as I march around the counter toward her, but I’m trusting that fucking black heart inside my chest when it whispers that she knows I’d never physically hurt her.

Once I’m in front of her, my hand snakes out and wraps loosely around her throat as I back her against the counter. Her pulse flutters rapidly against my palm, and her eyes flash with fear for a split second before it fades. They warm even as her breathing picks up.

“Good girl,” I murmur when her body relaxes in my grip.

I caress the skin of her throat with my thumb, allowing her time to adjust to my gentle touch so it doesn’t trigger her.

“One day soon, little mama, I’m going to fuck you like a good little whore to remind you who the fuck you are. Who you’ve always been, even when that motherfucker tried stealing you away. Birdie motherfucking Fitzgerald.”

Wicked delight snaps up my spine when her dull emerald eyes spark with an ember of fire. But when that growl vibrates against my palm . . .

Fuck, yeah.

That’s when I know I got her.

When I know my woman is beating under her skin, demanding to be let out.

My dark chuckle scrapes against the back of my throat as I pull her face closer to mine until only a breath of air separates our lips. “There she is. You really should let her come out to play. We’d have so much fun together.”

Anger flickers in the depths, and I wait, begging her silently to let it go. To burn me with her fire. I’ll gladly burn in the motherfucking flames if it brings her back.

Her nostrils flare as she holds my eyes, almost as if she’s daring me to push her a bit further.

So, I do.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I taunt, bringing my other hand up slowly to the bun she has on the top of her head. “Come on, little mama. Show me that Irish temper.”

A loud gasp jerks from her when she feels her curly copper hair fall down her back.

“You need to remember, baby. I always loved you when you were messy as fuck.” Before she can respond, I release her gently enough that she doesn’t lose her balance. “You really want me to get your stuff?”

Birdie clears her throat. “Yes, please. I would like my clothes and makeup.”

My lips curl into a smirk. “As you wish, little mama,” I murmur before walking out the door.

After ensuring there are a few prospects on her, I ride out.

The trip to the clubhouse is a quick in-and-out job.

I strap the duffel bag that has Birdie’s shit in it to the back of my bike and check in with Malice really quick.

There’s nothing major that needs my attention right now, so I head back to the house, not completely comfortable leaving my family for long periods of time yet.

Instead of walking through the front door when I get back, I unstrap the duffel and carry it over to the firepit area.

My anger mounts as I dig through the bag and see all the bullshit stuff he had her wearing.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, in this bag resembles the woman who left this place seven years ago.

The only thing left in the bag after I dump the rest in the firepit is her makeup, some jewelry, and the goddamn ol’ lady t-shirt I had made for her declaring her mine.

The thing is so worn out that there’s a few holes in it and my heart speeds up with the realization that she’s worn it a lot since she’s been gone.

Even after the shit I pulled to make her leave.

I brush a finger over the words ‘Property of Pope’ before closing the bag back up.

Legend comes running over to me, his eyes falling to his mom’s bag and the clothes I’m about to set on fire. Curiosity lights his eyes for a second before that protective shell settles over him.

“What are you doing with Mama’s clothes?”

“You’ll see. Go get your mom.” He still appears unsure, so I give it to him straight.

“This isn’t who your mom is. This is who he made her be.

I know the real her, and I want you all to have the chance to fall in love with the same version I did.

So, do me a favor, little warrior. Go grab your ma for me and bring her out here. ”

“You won’t hurt her?”

“Never, bud. Not intentionally.”

“Okay,” he replies before running up to the house.

That one word holds a wealth of trust.

While he’s getting her, I grab the lighter fluid and box of matches from the weatherproof lockbox under one of the outdoor tables. It’s only minutes later that Legend drags Birdie behind him as he marches back to me. I clench my jaw when I notice she’s put her hair back up.

Birdie wraps her arms around herself, eyeing me and the lighter fluid in my hand warily. “What are you doing, Pope?”

“Giving you a choice.” I squirt the fluid over the pile, soaking the clothes a good amount before setting the bottle away from where the flame will be.

“These aren’t you. Not any longer. Either I light this match and throw it on these clothes, or you do it, but these clothes will go up in flames.

What’s it gonna be, little mama? Are you gonna toss the match on this version of you, or am I? ”

She stands there staring at the pile of clothes for so long that I’m about to fucking do it myself.

Before I do, she pulls her eyes away from them and looks down at the little boy standing so quietly next to her.

Birdie lifts a hand and cups his cheek as she gazes at him.

After a few seconds, she finds Lovelyn still playing in the yard with Scorch and Munch’s two girls.

Finally, her eyes land back on me. They roam over my face, across her name still tattooed on my neck, then down my kutte before coming to a rest on the matches in my hand.

With a deep breath, she drops her hand from Legend’s face and holds it out. “I am.”

She’s quick to strike the match head against the side of the box, bringing the flame to life. I swear I see a small smile on her face as she tosses it onto the pile of clothes, but when I peer closer, her face is as blank as it has been since she showed up here.

There’s a quiet whoosh as the fabric catches fire.

I scoot closer to Birdie and Legend as we watch Eleanora disappear deep into the flames. Lovelyn eventually makes her way over to us, burrowing into her mama’s side as Legend soon rests his weight against mine.

As a family, we watch her old life burn.

It’s time for Birdie to rise from the ashes and claim her goddamn throne.