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NATALIA

T he moment I got home, all I wanted to do was sleep.

My body ached from the inside out. I was emotionally drained, physically wrecked, and mentally stuck somewhere between the past and this damn heart ache that wasn't going to go away any time soon. But being a Mom didn’t wait. I had accepted that a long time ago.

My alarm chimed through the house just as I was peeling off my scrubs. With a deep sigh I quickly changed into some shorts, strong and a T-shirt and ran to Gabe's. Waking him up for school was always a hassle. The boy loved to sleep and how I envied that. After a few minutes of lifting and shaking and calling his name, he finally staggered, half asleep, into the bathroom. I dragged myself into the kitchen, started the coffee pot, and packed his lunch with what I can only describe as slow, robotic movements. My fingers moved on autopilot as I made him a simple PB&J sandwich, fruit, granola bar, and a juice box. All the while my mind was still back in that clinic, staring down at the pool of blood, and thinking of the man who I thought I could avoid for the rest of my life.

He was alive and he lived here.

Breakfast was a blur of toast and milk. Gabe was still yawning as I helped him into his jacket and combed through his unruly curls before I grabbed his backpack and ushered him into the car.

It took five minutes to drive him to school, and he hugged me tight at the door as I dropped him off.

“Love you, Mama.”

“I love you too, baby,” I whispered into his hair.

As soon as he was safely inside, I drove away. I stopped at the café down the street, ordered the greasiest thing on the menu, ate in silence while the world moved on around me.

Then I went home.

I wasn't planning on showing up for work. Not for the next two days. Not while he was still there. I'd figure that out later, first, I just wanted to sleep.

Instead, my pulse stopped cold when I saw the motorcycle parked in my driveway. My stomach flipped as my grip on the steering wheel tightened.

Please don't be him. Please don’t be him.

And then I saw who it was and the knot in my stomach tightened even more.

That Scorpion I'd met at the supermarket was sitting on my porch, slowly standing as I got out of the car.

I slammed the door shut and stormed out, rage igniting in my veins. “Get the fuck off my property.”

He turned his head, that smug grin already plastered across his face. He looked too clean and too cocky, and he watched me with those light blue eyes, amused, as if he were the only one privy to his joke.

“Didn't know you were working for Hensley. You backin’ the Bastards now, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and oily.

“Better than running with Bloody fucking Scorpions.”

He moved slowly, carefully as he approached the stairs. “Wouldn’t say that if I were you.”

I moved fast, storming past him, boots hitting the porch steps hard. I shuffled with the keys and suddenly felt him behind me.

“All I want is a taste,” he whispered in my ear. “Your boy’s at school, right? That gives us some alone time.”

I didn’t answer. I just took my key and slid it into the lock, keeping slow and steady movements. I could feel him behind me, closer now and I prepared myself.

I threw my elbow back hard, catching him in the gut. He choked on a curse, doubling slightly. That’s when I spun, sprayed the pepper spray right into his face.

He screamed, staggered, and stumbled back down a step.

I reached inside, grabbed the shotgun from just inside the door and cocked it. I pointed it right at his fucking arrogant face.

His eyes went wide. Red, watery. But he still smirked.

“I don't think so. I suggest you leave,” I said coldly. “And if you come back, I’ll put a bullet in your fucking head.”

“Stupid fucking cunt!” he spat.

I pulled the trigger just to the right of his head. The blast shattered his confidence.

He flinched. Then hissed.

“You know the name Wolf Stone, Scorpion?" I took a step closer, and he backed down two more steps. "Know that if you fuck with me, you fuck with him.”

He spat on my porch, his lip curling in disgust. “You’re not getting away that easy.”

Another shot, this time aimed at his boots. He jumped, cursed, and staggered onto the ground.

"Next shot I aim at your kneecap. We'll call it self-defense."

“Bitch! I’ll be back,” he yelled. “And I won’t be as nice!”

"That's okay, there's a bullet here with your name on it," I yelled back.

He mounted his bike, gunning the engine, and roared off onto the street.

I stood there for a long minute, shotgun still aimed, hands shaking. I waited until the sound of his bike faded. Then I locked the door behind me. Making sure every single lock in the house was secure.

I carried the shotgun upstairs with me, placing it next to the bed before I stripped off my clothes, trembling.

I needed a shower. I needed to feel clean again.

The water was scalding, and I leaned against the cold tile, letting it burn the night away.

But my thoughts were on Tick Tock. His voice. His hands. The way he used to whisper my name as he came inside me. And the way he’d pull me close, it felt so safe in those arms.

I slid my fingers between my legs, eyes closing as I remembered the feel of mouth on me, and that hot feel of his tongue.

The memory of the sting of his hand when it came down on my ass made me shiver. It had been years since a man had touched me, licked me, made love to me. His voice was in my head, growling, mine, as he made me beg for more. And I always wanted more.

My fingers worked in slow circles along my clit, hips rolling forward, needy to be filled again.

I hated him.

I loved him.

And I missed him so fucking much.

My body tensed, as I slid my fingers inside me. A frustrating sensation that didn't fill me completely. I wanted his cock in me, filthy and hard like it always had been for me. I pictured his hand running down my spine as I crawled on all four for him. He loved it even though he was just getting used to having a pet. The need hit me in waves, crashing through me as the orgasm ripped free, sharp and brutal.

I cried out his name as the release overtook me, and soon after the sobs followed. I collapsed to my knees, the water pounding against my back, my tears being washed away. And I cried until there was nothing left. Then I crawled into bed, the rifle beside me, and I let those memories fade.