Page 35 of Toxic Biker

“What’s that supposed to mean? Care to elaborate?” I ask, in reference to his silent shrug.

He leans forward, wrapping his arms around my middle and presses a kiss to the side of my throat. His voice is low and gravely next to my ear as he admits, “He’s going to join the MC.”

“My brother? Seth?” I ask in shock. I mean, sure, he’s gotten close to a few of the guys, but I thought it was just born from boredom and talking when they’re in the same room…not because he wants to join them.

“He needs a way to do what he wants to do. He can’t become a Marshal. He already looked into it and physically, he wouldn’t pass the tests. Same with the FBI. Besides, he’s too jaded to go legit at this point.”

My throat grows tight, air suddenly choking me. My brother was never muscular or anything, but he was always in shape from playing sports. He could run well, not super-fast, but he was quick enough to be good at soccer. Knowing he couldn’t pass any sort of physical entry exams because of what was done to him makes my chest hurt for him. As for his head, well, I already know he’s not himself. The screams when he manages to sleep are answer enough to the hell he went through.

He survived. He’s alive. He’s still Seth.

It’s what I tell myself each day when I start to think of him as being gone. My parents, well, they never returned. They’re still somewhere in Switzerland, hiding out. I don’t blame them for not moving back as they’d most likely be murdered. I would do something different if it were my kids in the same situation, namely, not leave the country without them in the first place. If it weren’t for Asher and his brothers making me feel safe here, I’d probably have joined them in Switzerland by now.

“He needs help.”

“He’s already had it. This is the man he’s become, he had to fight to survive, and it isn’t always pretty coming out on the other side.”

I nod. He’s right. Asher may be a little dark at times, but I’ve learned for the most part, he’s a realist.

“How are you feeling today, baby?” He tenderly kisses along my jaw, spreading his hands wide over my growing belly. I think it’s huge, but he swears it’s still small.

“Good, probably a lot better than I should be.”

“Nah, you take good care of yourself. Don’t feel guilty you don’t get sick like all those mommas in the articles you read.”

“My feet sure do swell, though.” I glance down as I wiggle my toes in the men’s athletic slide on sandals. It’s embarrassing how fat and red my feet get each day, but at least Asher rubs them each night for me. “I want to name her after your mom.” I’ve been trying to find the right time to bring it up. It’s been hard, though, not wanting to send Asher spiraling from his mom’s death. He’s been working his way through the grief process. It about killed him when his mom passed, but I think the pregnancy has given him something to hope for.

“No.”

“But she was so important to you, Asher. It’s okay to honor her.”

“I know it is, but the answer’s still no. I want our daughter to be her own person with her own name.”

“If she’s anything like you, we have nothing to worry about,” I tease, as he’s bossy, dominant, and I tend to spoil him, so it makes him even worse at times. But I love him fiercely, so we find ways to compromise with each other.

“How about Sarah? It’s a sweet little girl’s name.”

I snort. “Cause she’s going to be sweet and not rotten?”

“She’s my daughter, so of course,” he says seriously, and I have to hold my laugh in. He’s going to put this little girl up on a pedestal so high she’ll do no wrong in his eyes. I already know it.

“You’re not upset to be the first daddy in the club?”

“Blow’s got a kid.”

“You know what I mean.” It’s Blow’s ol’ lady’s daughter, though you wouldn’t know it by the way he acts. He loves that little girl as if she’s his own.

“No. It’s the best thing to ever happen in my life besides you coming in it.”

“I love you,” I whisper, growing emotional over his words.

This man. He never makes me feel unloved or unwanted…not even for a moment. I always know where I stand with him and it’s holding his heart.

“Don’t cry, babe,” he grumbles, moving my hair to kiss along the back of my neck.

“You know the deal, cookies or I do what I want.”

He chuckles, pushing forward until we’re both standing. He tucks me under his arm and leads me towards his bike. “Alright, the cookie shop it is.” He digs in his saddlebag and then leads us to my car.

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