Page 51 of Kodiak

EPILOGUE

KODIAK

It takes foreverfor my old lady to wake up as my head is buried between her thighs. When her hips lift and grind into my face, a smile forms on my face.

“Took you long enough,” I tease as I lift up on my knees and hover over her.

“Hi,” she shyly says as I line my dick up with her opening and slide home.

“Hi,” I reply as I glide in balls deep. “I’m going to make slow love to you, Luna.” Tears glisten in her eyes when my words sink in. We’re passionate people who never have control of ourselves long enough to take our time with one another.

Right now, though, Ineedto show her how I feel before I tell her. She’s the most important person in my life, next to my blood brother and the club, and I know that when our baby arrives, the two of them will be my whole universe.

“Yes,” she cries out as I hit her sweet spot, swiveling my hips. The feelings that flow through me are unlike anything I could’ve imagined experiencing with a woman.

Sweat drenches our skin as we stare into each other’s eyes, never losing our momentum as I pump in and out of her soaked channel. Her nails dig into my shoulders as my forehead lowers to hers.

“I love you, Marcum. I love both facets of you. The man, the club president. The honor, devotion, and loyalty in you astounds me. I admire you in more ways than can be counted.” Her words awaken a part of my soul that I thought had long ago been destroyed.

“I love you too, Luna mine. You are the moon that lightens the dark part of me. You make sure I can see down the black path life has forged for me. You make me want to be a better man. I’m always going to be walking down a road that is lined in blood and death, but when I come home to you asleep in my bed, I can put that aside.”

I continue making love to her until we both explode, our releases catapulting us into an entirely new stratosphere. I never thought making love with the other half of my soul could be just as monumental as it was.

I slide off her and land on my back, pulling her over to where her head is resting on my chest. “I’ve got church scheduled here in a bit, but Demi is in Xavier’s room so you won’t be here alone.”

“I’ll probably go back to sleep. This pregnancy thing is exhausting,” she says around a yawn before she giggles.

“Then rest, baby. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I tell her, patting her thigh.

She’s fast asleep before I have a chance to shove my feet into my boots. When I go to leave our bedroom, I make a mental note that I need to send our prospects to clean out her apartment and bring her things here. She may not want to terminate her lease, Demi may decide to take it over, so I won’t pay off her landlord until I speak to them about my plans. When my child is born, I want him or her to come home here. I don’t want us living in two different towns.

When I get to the living room, Xavier is waiting for me with a travel mug of coffee which he passes over to me. A determined look is settled on his face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him, not liking the way his eyes have shut down.

“Demi had a nightmare last night, and some of the things she said means we have more than one group of men to take out,” he announces.

“Fuck,” I mumble. “One step at a time, brother. Let’s take care of the rapists, then we’ll nix any other fuckers who’ve messed with her.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, Kodiak.” The fact that he used my road name instead of my given one lets me know how critical this is. “Because if I have to go nomad again in order to neutralize her threats, I will.”

“Noted,” I tell him as we leave the house and head for the clubhouse.

Looks like life is fixing to get more strenuous than relaxed. But that’s okay, I have to relieve my bloodlust somewhere and Demi’s enemies have just become ours.

DEMI

“No,” I mumble,lost in a familiar but horrific nightmare. My foster father laughs, the sound is menacing and for a six year old, that sound is something that makes me want to run and hide. But I can’t, because he’s placed a collar around my neck and is leading me around the house by a leash.

“Lick it up,” he orders, pointing to the oatmeal that I burned that morning when he demanded I make him breakfast. Despite the fact that I want to puke, I shake my head even though the collar and leash tug on my tender, already bruised skin.

Even at my tender age, I’m defiant and refuse to do as he bids. I can handle the beatings and humiliation. This place is better than the last one where the dad there made me bathe in front of him. He’d stroke his hand up and down his middle until white stuff poured out from it as I’d run the washcloth across my privates.

I never felt clean after that, it made me feel dirtier. The only reason I’m not still there is because another child told their aunt, and she reported him to the social worker.

This may not be a happy place to live, but to those looking in, I’m clean, fed, and the man and woman now fostering me, pretend like they care. They don’t, not really, they just want the check the state gives them. Of course, it’s not spent on me and my needs; I wear thrift store clothes and hand-me-downs from the church, while my foster mom has fancy nails and hair. But the clothes she buys second hand are clean and none of them are torn or tattered so it doesn’t matter if they come with price tags or not.

My case worker told me to stop complaining, because the next place I live may be worse than this one. That advice, I took to heart and never, ever tell about the fact that I clean the floors with my tongue and am led around the house on a leash whenever he gets mad at me. I don’t understand whyshedoesn’t stop him, though. Aren’t mothers supposed to protect their kids? Even if they’re not really theirs?

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