Hunter (The Untouchables MC 6)

And my husband was an Untouchable. At one point, he’d nearly been the Club Prez. He had other responsibilities beyond our family and his restaurant, the Mason Jar. Well, he called it ‘our place’ now, but he had run the place for years before we met.

“What’s wrong?”

“Not sure. Got an urgent text.”

“Let me make you some coffee.”

He turned around and kissed me.

“No time, babe. I will text when I know anything.”

We both knew that he couldn’t actually tell me what was happening over text. The Untouchables were not extreme outlaw bikers anymore, but they didn’t exactly follow the letter of the law, either. And after what we’d all been through with the Hell Raisers, I was not expecting it to be a pretty picture, whatever was going on.

When Mason had that particular look of worry on his face, it usually meant there was a dead body or two.

I rolled back and pulled the covers up, knowing that I wouldn’t sleep but taking the rare quiet moment for myself. A little while later, I startled, realizing I had dozed off after all. I heard a ping and grabbed for my phone.

Bad situation. Tell you later.

I sighed and rubbed my hand over my face.

Home for breakfast?

Yes

Then another ping that made me snort.

Hunter got himself a woman

I laughed and pecked out a response.

About time

I’ll say. Home soon. Love you.

Love you, too.

I was smiling as I checked on the kids and then went into the kitchen to start breakfast.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Hunter

I rolled my shoulders, worn out and tight from the late night at the clubhouse. What I needed was a hot shower and my woman in my arms. But I had a feeling that Claire was not going to be at my beck and call. Not anytime soon.

But she would. In time, she would see that we belonged together. I’d make sure of it.

I couldn’t believe how fucking amazing it had been to finally be with her. But my dream of waking up with her in my bed hadn’t gone well. I’d fucked it up with my overeager cocksmanship.

A deep, primitive part of me was glad. The animal in me wanted to get her pregnant. Immediately. It wasn’t exactly feminist, but I wanted to stake my claim in the fertile ground of her body.

Damn if the thought of her all round with my baby didn’t make my dick get instantly hard. Then again, any thought of Claire had that effect on me.

“Fuck me,” I said, deciding whether to shower and face the day or crawl into bed for another couple of hours. I heard the screen door next door slam and watched as Claire walked her sassy ass down the front walk to her car.

Yeah, fuck that. I was up. I wanted to see where the fuck she was going.

So I followed her.

I kept my bike at a low rumble, always staying two blocks behind. I realized that I needed a car. Something big and safe. You needed a vehicle to drive a lady around.

Especially a pregnant one.

I knew Claire would be pissed if she saw me. But when I watched her pull into the first drugstore parking lot, I started to feel a deep sense of dread pulse through my veins. I watched as she tried to go in. The doors were locked due to the blackout. She leaned close to the glass and peered inside. Her shoulders sagged and she headed for the next place. I followed her to another drugstore. Then another.

With each fruitless pitstop, my anger started to grow.

It was her body, yes. But I wanted her to at least think about keeping my baby. It might be unreasonable, but there was no denying my caveman feelings toward her. I wanted to tie her down, pronto.

It was irrational and I knew it. But there it was.

After about an hour, she found a section of town where the power was already back on. I stared as she walked into the drugstore, returning to her car about ten minutes later.

My heart twisted in my chest when I saw the heartbroken look on her face.

She walked woodenly to the car with the small neatly folded paper bag, slipped inside, and sat there. Claire didn’t move for the longest time. Then suddenly, she buried her face in her hands.

Shit. Fuck. She was crying.

My woman was crying, and it was unacceptable.

I was off my bike and striding across the parking lot before I even knew what was happening. Her eyes were wide as I pulled open the driver’s side door and gently lifted her out of the car.

“Hunter? What are you—”

“You should keep the damned door locked,” I growled.

“I just got in the car. It’s broad daylight.”

“Most attacks occur in parking lots. You could have been abducted. Hurt. It is unacceptable.”

She blinked at me, clearly surprised.

“How did you get here? What are you doing here?”