I sigh. He’s probably right.
Matthew and I have always been more alike than I’ve ever wanted to admit.
The shit that happened that day with Sophia at the motel…
At times I felt like I was fucking channeling him.
Channeling a fucking monster we’re both fucking descended from or something.
I’ve killed in rage before. Killed in rage for her.
But that shit…
I’ve never felt anything like it.
And a part of me hopes I never feel it again.
I was a manic mess. That’s the only way to fucking describe it. I was a fucking manic, psychotic, murderous mess for weeks.
I just can’t stand to see my baby in pain.
If she’s in pain… someone has to fucking die.
I can’t even count how many fucking days I ached and longed to kill Dickers, Trent, and Jacob all over again. Kill them and make them suffer every time she winced or flinched.
Thankfully Sophia’s made a complete and full recovery and there’s been no lasting damage. Her throat was bruised and her vocal cords were fucked up for a few weeks, but everything is healed now.
Which is good because we are expecting a baby.
We were wrong about her being pregnant that day, and I fucking hate that she had to suffer needlessly, but she’s good and knocked up now.
She’s knocked up, we’ve built a new house, and everyone’s happy. Mitzy is looking forward to being a big sister and Fluffers is still breathing.
When my world was upended all those months ago in Elim Park, I never imagined fourteen months later I’d be happily married and have a child on the way.
Crazy fucking times. Crazy as can be.
And I’m loving every second of it.
Things have been going good with the big family, too.
We’ve rooted out the Russian’s hold over the cops and most of their business enterprises have gone belly up in Garden City.
Johnathan’s daughter, Rebekah, was born a couple of months ago. And she’s the cream in that motherfucker’s coffee. I’ve never seen a big bad biker crumble to a baby’s cries like he does.
Lily, Meghan, and my sister Meredith are as big as can be, and all the husbands are fucking frazzled.
These days, Sophia’s either trying to crawl into my pants any chance she can get or she’s in the bathroom throwing up. That freaked me out at first, but I’ve thankfully learned since it’s perfectly normal in some women to have that kind of morning sickness.
Pushing my back against the old metal door that opens out onto the roof, I sigh. “Man, I need to get home soon. Sophia’s trying her hand at brownies and I want to make sure I’m there to help her so I still have a kitchen when she’s done.”
“You’re letting her cook again?” Jude chuckles as he shakes his head at me.
He’s not wrong to feel that way. She nearly burned down the new house the first time she tried to cook in our new kitchen. I never knew someone could fuck up eggs and bacon that bad, but leave it to my wife. She can’t cook to save her soul. Not even toast.
“Dude, it’s just brownies in the oven,” I say. “How bad could they be?”
“Wasn’t that what you said about the grilled cheeses? How long were you puking for again?” he asks.
Fuck me. I forgot about that.
Ramming back against the door, I yank on the whimpering sack of shit we’ve been carrying up the stairs and pull Jude right along with him.
Dropping the body on the ground, I rip my phone from my pocket to text Sophia.
Seeing what I’m doing, Jude starts to cackle at me as he continues to pull the guy’s jiggly body across the roof of the warehouse.
“What’s the problem?” Jude asks.
“Fuck off,” I growl as my fingers start tapping into the phone.
Me: Did you start the brownies yet?
“Did you know that Lucifer has an official driver now for Sophia?” I ask Jude while I wait for her to answer.
“Yes. I heard he developed a disturbing case of… heartburn after seeing footage of her… driving abilities,” he laughs.
Lucifer and I both have serious fucking anxiety whenever she tries to drive anywhere. Fuck, I nearly had a heart attack when I rode with her the first time.
Sophia thinks she has a driver attached to her because she pregnant, but no. Damon is her driver permanently.
A feminine laugh behind us shakes the visions of Sophia racing erratically around the city from my head.
“You just now figuring out that Sophia needs to carry around a rabbit’s foot with her?” Amanda asks as she leans in the doorway.
Giving Amanda the stink eye, I say, “You could have warned me about her cooking skills.”
“She’s never tried cooking before, how was I to know?” she asks and walks over to us.
Amanda.
Fuck. I thought we were a fucked-up family before, but this chick just cements the whole fucking deal.