Widow's Undoing (Ruthless Sinners MC 4)

Before I even realized what I was doing, I’d stepped back into my hiding spot and froze. I had no idea what he was doing there. I’d never given him my address. I’d never even mentioned what area of town I lived in, so I had no idea how he’d even found me. I could feel my heart racing as I watched him remove his helmet and get off his bike. When he reached into his bag and grabbed something, I panicked. This was it. Widow was no hero. He was a sicko who’d come to do God knows what. Damn. I took a quick hit off my cigarette, then returned it to my side, hoping it would settle the overwhelming anxiety I was feeling as he made his way up my front steps. He was just about to knock when something caught his attention—more than likely my stupid cigarette. He made his way back down the steps, then leaned over to look in the bushes.

That’s when he spotted me. “Frankie?”

“Um-hmm.” I took a step out of hiding, and the second my eyes met his, I knew he hadn’t come there to hurt me. Since I still had no idea why he’d come, I teased, “Look, I’m having a really bad day, so if you’re here to rob me or kill me, can you make it quick? I just don’t have it in me to fight for my survival.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah. That bad.”

His eyes dropped to my hand as he asked, “You got another one of those?”

“Sure. Just let me grab one.” I stepped out onto the walkway, rushed into the garage to grab him one, and quickly returned. “I hide them in the garage.”

“Hide ‘em?” he asked as he lit the cigarette. “Who exactly are you hiding them from?”

“My kids.” I nodded my head towards the house. “I know it sounds silly, but they don’t like it when I smoke.”

“That why you’re in the bushes?”

“Pretty much.” I shrugged. “I don’t do it very often. Just when I’m really stressed out or having a crappy day.”

“Like today.”

“Exactly.”

A smile swept across his lips, and it was just about the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. He brought the cigarette up to his mouth, and for a brief moment, I was actually jealous of that damn cigarette. I was trying to shake off my overactive hormones when he asked, “So, why don’t you tell me about this bad day of yours?”

“Umm, well...you know. Just your typical stuff. I lost my wallet, the house is a total disaster, and the laundry is piled high. I’ve been rushing around all day. To school, then to the counselor, back to school, and then to work. Feels like I’ve been running around like a chicken with its head cut off all day.” I didn’t know why I’d rambled off all the details of my terrible day. For whatever reason, I felt comfortable talking to him—too comfortable. Instead of ending my rambling there, I kept going. “To top it all off, Corry’s counselor just called, and he seems to think Corry has PTSD. I’m still trying to wrap my head around that one.”

“Damn. Sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, me too.” I tossed my cigarette butt on the ground and stomped it out. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure why I blurted all that out. I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to me complain about my crazy life.”

“No need to apologize..” His dark eyes locked on mine as he said, “I asked. You answered.”

“Yeah, well. I might’ve gotten carried away.”

“No. I get it. You have a lot on your plate.”

“I do, but it comes with the territory when you’re divorced with two kids. Usually, I handle things a little better, but hearing the news about Corry threw me for a loop.” He didn’t speak. He just stood there silently staring back at me. “I love my kids. I try to be a good mother to them, but it’s hard. Sometimes I feel like a complete failure.”

“You’re not a failure, Frankie. Far from it. The way your boy was with you last night was proof of that.”

He looked at me with such kindness and compassion, like he really understood what I was going through. That wasn’t something I’d expect from a fierce, virile biker. With all my preconceived notions, I figured a man like him would be hard and cold, more like Marc, but I was wrong. From the depth of his dark, dreamy eyes to the sexy, low rumble of his voice, he was the walking definition of smoking hot—basically everything Marc was not. Feeling the sudden need to steady myself, I eased over to the porch steps. As I sat down, I looked up at him and asked, “Do you have kids?”

“No.” He cocked his eyebrow as he replied, “At least none that I’m aware of.”