Thunder (Hell's Handlers MC 10)

“Babe, we’re dangerous.” He winked. “And crazy.”

It was probably meant as an attempt to lighten the mood, but the joke failed. Somehow, she needed to convey the severity of this to him and get him to agree to keep her personal problems away from his club. “Look, if my father or my husband connect you to us, they won’t ask questions. They did it to my mother.” She sighed. “My mom had an affair with a man outside our community. When my father found out, my mom ‘disappeared’ and the man she slept with was killed. Brutally and publicly. They beat him to death in the center of our compound. I was a kid. It was—”

“Shit, Mak.” He yanked her close and held her tight. “I am so sorry that happened to you, but we aren’t your mom. We’re a strong group. You wouldn’t believe some of the training and experience our guys have.”

He wasn’t listening. He didn’t get it.

She gripped his upper arms and shook. “They’ll burn down your clubhouse or something insane like that. All they care about is the people of their community. Everyone else is expendable to them. My husband is crazy and my father is crazier.”

He didn’t appear remotely fazed by her impassioned plea. “Ex.”

“What?”

“Ex-husband.”

Oh shit.

They stared at each other. Mak wrung her hands, twisting the shirt she still held. “Um, Thunder, he’s not my ex-husband. I’m still married.” The last part came out in a whisper.

He stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“I—w-we ran. Literally ran in the middle of the night. Divorce wasn’t possible. Technically, I’m still married. This is why the club can’t get involved. It’s too messy. Too complicated.” She had to steer this conversation back around to what was important.

“You’re still fucking married?” He shoved to his feet and stormed into the kitchen. “I need a fucking drink.”

“Um, all I have is beer and wine,” she called as she rushed after him.

“Fucking married,” he mumbled as he yanked a beer out of the fridge. He flipped the cap off with his keychain then downed the entire thing in five swallows.

Mak stood there, shoulders slumped and chest heavy. Now what?

“This bullshit is pretty much exactly why I avoid relationships,” he spat out as he slammed the empty bottle on the counter. “People just fucking lie and cheat and tear each other apart.” He gripped the edge of the small island, head hanging between his shoulders. “You know how many times angry wives showed up at the brothel crying and shattered because they found out their husbands were our customers?”

The threat of impending tears thickened her throat. “I’m so sor—”

“You know,” he went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “I was gonna tell you I fucking loved you today.”

Oh, God, her heart pulsed with a deep ache.

He lifted his head, staring straight at her. The anguish in his gaze tore her heart in two. Hurting him cut her worse than she’d imagined.

The first tear fell free.

“My whole life has been full of cheaters and liars. They came to fuck my mom. They come with a fist full of cash to fuck me. It’s all a big game to them. They don’t give a shit about anyone but themselves.” He shook his head, then in a mocking voice, said, “‘Look at me, I’m married but, I can still blow the stripper.’ It’s not like I’m gonna fucking tell. I’m an immoral stripper. Stuff a few hundred in my shorts, and my mouth is sealed tight. I refuse to let that poison into my personal life.”

No. Those situations were nothing like hers. How could he not see that?

But he seemed lost to his rage, now pacing the kitchen. Then he stopped dead in his tracks and faced her. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” he snarled with hatred.

Honestly, it hadn’t even crossed her mind. In her head, she sure as hell wasn’t married. She had never been. There hadn’t been any truth to her “vows” or loyalty between her and her husband. It’d been a business deal, one she’d never wanted and escaped from at the first chance she could.

He had to recognize that.

“It wasn’t a real marriage, Thunder,” she said, defeat weighing her down.

“Is it legal?”

“Yes, but—” She wanted to go to him, soothe him with her touch, beg for forgiveness, plead with him to look at things from her perspective, but maybe this was the catalyst she’d been looking for. Even though it sliced into her soul, here was her out.

And she needed to take it.

“M-maybe…” Oh, God. She pressed a hand to her queasy stomach. The words stuck in her throat like a sharp shard. “M-maybe, this is a sign we should c-cool things down for a while.” She stared at her feet, like the coward she was, unable to make eye contact.

“Seriously? You’re fucking dumping me?”