Page 36 of Legacy

That night, Reagan saw the reality of what comes with my place in the club. At that moment, there was no hiding that I’m a bad man.A killer.Fear and hesitation flooded her eyes as she stared at me.

When I suggested she could leave, it wasn’t for the reasons I’ve been saying she should go since the beginning. It wasn’t for my sake.

It was for hers.

What she saw and how she felt about it won’t change. It’s who I am. And because of the club, I can’t explain myself to make her feel better. It is what it is.

That particular night wasn’t even notable. Ghost, Havoc, and I had been out checking in on a few of ourbusinesses downtown when two Iron Sinners thought it would be a good idea to start shit. One almost stabbed me in the side, but I moved in time to snap his wrist and slice him through the gut instead.

They attacked us first.

I could tell Reagan that, and it might make her feel better. But the truth is, that’s not always the case. Sometimes, it’s the other way around. Sometimes, we’ve got a good reason for it. Other times, it’s because someone is drunk and annoyed.

The circumstances are inconsistent and not usually comforting.

At least Reagan and I are coexisting now, pretending nothing happened. Margaret is getting worse, and candidates to replace her keep falling through. So we hang in this purgatory and learn to live with each other.

Around each other?

Who the fuck knows what we’re doing.

I pause with my hand on the hook and stare at the Twisted Kings logo on the back of my cut. The club and Bea are everything to me. At the end of the day, they’re all that matters.

As I step deeper into my house, I find the living room and kitchen empty. Something is cooling in the crockpot, and it smells unlike anything I’ve eaten. Reagan cooks better than the clubhouse chef, and I’m hungry the second I smell it.

A happy squeal comes from the backyard, and I glance through the window to see Bea running around there, playing soccer in a black leotard, a purple tutu, andbright-pink cowboy boots. While Reagan sits in the shade of the porch reading one of her smutty books.

Every time I think that girl can’t possibly surprise me, she manages it. I sense there are so many layers working underneath that pristine mask she wears, and I’m tempted to peel each one back slowly. Strip her of the perfect facade and mess her the fuck up.

The heat of the afternoon hangs heavy in the air as I step outside. It saturates the desert, even as the sun is starting to dip below the horizon. I drop into the chair beside Reagan, and only then does she notice me, slamming her book shut with surprise.

“Lost in thought, sweetheart?” I grin when I spot her beautifully blushed cheeks.

I’m tempted to snatch her book out of her hands to read what’s got her eyes hazy with lust, but it’s probably better that I don’t know, or I might be tempted to act on it.

I adjust my jeans and lean back in my chair, trying not to think about Reagan worked up. “I’m guessing that’s a good book? Intricate plot…”

Her eyes narrow. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I would, but there’s no way in fuck we’re going there, or I might not be able to stop, so I change the subject. “I see the contractor showed up this morning.”

“Oh, right.” She slaps her hand on her forehead. “I was supposed to text you when they got here. They just had so many questions that I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Seems it went well withoutme.”

“It did.” She smiles at the new shade over the porch. “It only took them a few hours. When they first got here, I thought it would take all day.”

It would have taken them all day if Ghost hadn’t pulled up the security feed in my backyard and showed me the men at my house flirting with my nanny instead of working. All it took was one call from me to get them into gear. It was either that, or I could find a spot to bury them within the property line.

But I can’t say that, so I just say, “Good.”

“It’s funny,” Reagan muses. “I was just thinking you could use a shade out here. Not that it will do much in the middle of the summer. But this time of year, it’s enough to make it bearable. It’s perfect.”

Dropping my chin, I bury my smirk. I know she thought about it because she texted it to me once. But clearly, she doesn’t remember.

“Glad you like it.”

Bea slides to a stop on the fake turf that covers the backyard, and when she hops up, she spots me.

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