Page 27 of Scotch: Unraveled

“Why us, though?” I ask. “Why go after innocent women, most of whom have children with them?”

“He’s obviously got some issue with the Lords,” Tommy says. “Easiest way to force a man’s hand to step outta line is to go after his woman. I’ve sworn to uphold the law and there ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do to keep Maryanne safe. Especially not now.” A sly smile spreads across Tommy’s face.

“What?” Brighton asks. “You’re not—”

“That’s what I was shooting the shit with Elise about. Tommy and I are expecting,” Maryanne says, absolutely beaming.

“Oh my god.” Brighton and I squeal so loud, we startle the girls, who’ve been sleeping this whole time. Luckily, they settle back just as quickly so I can stand and walk around the table to give both Tommy and Maryanne hugs of congratulations.

“Seriously,” Tommy says. “Last I’m gonna say about it tonight because I want us to enjoy ourselves, but you ladies be vigilant when you’re out and about around the county. Make sure your man knows what’s going on at all times. We’re here to protect you.”

Maryanne beams at her husband and I’m still so happy for her, for them… but I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m the odd one out here. Brighton isn’t connected to the club, so she should be safe, but if Roryismy man, he’s not here, is he? He’s off doing business for the club and holy shit—I just offered that information up to Rodrick.

I’m so stupid. Single Woman Safety 101: Don’t tell asshole men when there isn’t a man around. It sucks that we have to consider these things, but we do and I’ve totally blown that all to hell.

At the end of the night, to be safe, we escort Brighton back to her home and then Tommy and Maryanne escort me and the girls back up to the compound before they turn off for home.

A different prospect works the gate tonight. Jack or something, I think. I haven’t been around him much, but he knows my car and my face enough to wave me through without hassling me and I continue on toward Rory’s home. Tomorrow is Saturday, so the girls and I have a whole lot of nothing to do, which sounds completely wonderful. Maybe they’ll even let me sleep in a bit.

Fat chance, but a girl can hope.

Once inside, I lock up and then proceed to our nightly routine. Bath time when needed, which happens to be tonight. Fresh diapers. Jammies. And finally, bedtime. I wait a few moments to make sure they’re actually settled before hopping in the shower myself, and I ready for bed as well. There’s just something about stretching out under the comforter on cool sheets at the end of a long day. I use the remote to flip on the television and check email on my phone when it rings in my hand.

I sigh and pressanswerhappily. “Hey,” I say.

“Hey back,” Rory says. “Missing ya.”

“I miss you too. When are you coming home?” These past few weeks have been long ones. I was pretty pissed when I found out he’d be gone longer than I first agreed to, but between the weariness in his voice and the million and one apologies for having to stay away, I couldn’t hold onto it. Now I just want him home because his face needs my kisses and his body needs my hugs—I’ve decided.

“Be there tomorrow some time. We stopped for the night. How’re the babes?”

“Sleeping. I’m just in bed watching History Channel.”

“In bed, eh? Then I got something for ya.” He chuckles, and I know I’m in trouble with this guy. A series of photo texts begin popping up on the screen, then disappear. I go to my texts to open them and…

“Why are you sending me pictures of random ugly dudes?” I ask.

He laughs harder. “They’re dick picks. See that first guy.” The guy is wearing a cut that reads,Devil’s Outlaws. “He was a dick.”

They probably hear my laughter inside the clubhouse, I laugh so hard. “Second guy was a bigger dick,” he goes on. “The third”—the third is the picture of a shorter possibly Mexican man wearing a linen suit and an arrogant scowl—“is a major dick,” Rory finishes.

“Oh, poor baby.” I continue to laugh. “It must be difficult to be around such massive dicks. Maybe I have something to make you feel better.”

“Oh, really?”

Frantically, I search the internet, but all I can come up with are a series of cow udder pics that I save and text to him.

“Uh, Frankie… not exactly what I had in mind, lass.”

“What? You sent me dick pics, so I returned the favor with tit pics.” We both continue to chuckle.

“Any chance of me seeing the ones attached to Francesca Cardone?” he asks sincerely then.

“Do whatcha want to do, but don’t let it get caught on film. You know the rules.”

“It’s digital.”

“And the internet is forever.” We had that same rule in place eight years ago, too.

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