A Monster's Beauty (In the Arms of Monsters 3)

“You know, this girl, she’s supposed to love you and only you, yet all I can see is a lot of fucking heartache. Do you want to tell me about that shit?”

“There’s nothing to tell.” He and Dog may be friends, but it didn’t mean they were close. He never made that kind of mistake.

After leaving the warehouse, he straddled his bike, and without looking back, he took off into the night, riding his bike. With each passing hour, his body started to hurt and ache. He recognized the signs and it was a fucking bitch of all pain.

Finally, seeing no other reason not to return home, he did so, letting himself in through the kitchen. It was there where he found Robin in a robe, her hair messed up, sipping some hot chocolate.

The moment she saw him, she was on her feet. “What happened?” She reached for his face as if to touch him, and he took her hands, kissing the tips of her fingers.

“It’s nothing.”

“Your face doesn’t look like nothing. What happened?” she asked, concern edged in her voice.

“I had to do what I had to do.” He didn’t let go of her hand. He stared into her eyes, wanting something, anything. The pain in his body only seemed to be getting worse. “I need to take a bath.”

He had to have some distance. Somewhere in this house was the bane of all of his problems, and Bishop was also out there. He had a couple of men on the case, and if Bishop even thought to leave town, the little prick was dead.

Bishop had stopped being a son to him some time ago, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit he had no feelings when it came to the kid. All he wanted to do was hurt him. To make him pay for what he did. Right now, he wasn’t in his right mind when it came to making decisions. Everything had been handed to him, and slowly, swiftly, it was all being taken away. Robin coming back into his life, her memories returning, then of course Reaper, and all the revelations afterward.

He entered his bedroom, removed his leather cut, took off his clothes, and threw them in a pile. He’d burn them as soon as he was washed.

Running himself a bath, he climbed into the tub and soaked his aching muscles. He heard the door open and knew she’d come to see him.

Opening his eyes, he saw she was she perched on the edge of the tub.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

“You left so quickly. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you hate me?” she asked.

“No, I couldn’t hate you.”

“My dad does. He thinks I’m a whore.”

Preacher’s hands clenched into fists. There was a lot of shit going on and he couldn’t keep pandering to her needs, not anymore. “You’re not a whore. He doesn’t think that.”

“He does and told me himself. But you’re angry with me. I don’t know what’s worse.”

“Yes, I’m angry. Not with you specifically. With the entire fucked-up circumstances. Surely you of all people understand it.”

“I do. I know I haven’t been the best person here, but I am trying, I promise.” Tears filled her eyes, and he knew she was struggling with everything.

He lifted up in the water, taking her hand and locking their fingers together. “I’m with you. I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. I’m angry you even had to make that choice.”

She started to sob and he pulled her into his arms, not caring that he soaked through her pajamas. He had to hold her.

“There’s something you don’t know,” she said, sniffling. “I … I’m his wife.”

“What?”

“Bishop signed the annulment papers. I was married before I even gave birth to Bethany. Please, don’t be mad.”

Preacher let her go. “I need you to leave.”

“Preacher?”