Doin' A Dime (Souls Chapel Revenants MC 4)

I hung up and shoved the phone back into my pocket and then walked to my family.

They all stopped talking, but not because they were thinking that I could just now hear—they didn’t care if I heard them talking shit about my girl—but likely because of the look on my face.

“I am dead to you,” I said softly. “I no longer exist at all. The next time that one of you needs your computer fixed, or a bail out, or even someone to watch your dog—you can count me out. I no longer exist to you. Wyett no longer exists to you.” I turned my gaze to Willa. “I hope he divorces you. I hope that you see how utterly awful of a person you are. I hope that tonight you can’t sleep as you think about your young child nearly dying because you were over here talking about my wife and how fat you think she is instead of watching your kid as he slowly drowned in the pool. And I hope that it sits like a bitter pill in your throat as you think about my sexy as fuck wife saving your son from dying.”

Willa’s mouth dropped open.

I turned to my ‘mother.’

“And you,” I spat. “Thanks but no thanks. I’m not your child. I’m some whore’s son. That is actually better for me. I really appreciate you saying that I’m adopted all those years, though. It makes me feel better that people won’t know that I’m related to this asshole family in any way by blood.”

I paused. “And seriously, don’t come knocking when shit hits the fan. Leave me out of it.”

Shit hitting the fan being me going around digging for their dirty laundry and airing it out.

Because I would.

After today, there were some things that they needed to atone for.

A lot of things that I’d been covering up that I wouldn’t be any longer.

With that, I walked away and didn’t look back.

Stripping off my soiled shirt, I tossed it on the ground next to my car.

After grabbing my clothes from the trunk, I headed up to my room, my head in the clouds, and didn’t think about the fact that Wyett was likely naked on the other side of the door.

At least not until I pushed it open and walked in on her in just her towel.

Her beautiful breasts were spilling out of the tiny white towel that was wrapped around her, and the slice of upper legs peeking out was even more enticing at the slit of the towel that wouldn’t quite cover her lower half.

“Eep,” she said, starting to turn away.

Only, her eyes caught on mine before they did and she froze like a deer in headlights.

“Hunt…”

I couldn’t help it.

I needed it.

I needed her.

I wanted her.

I… just couldn’t.

I took two long strides her way, slamming the door as I went, and caught her up around the waist.

“Hunt!” she gasped.

Then I had her pushed against the bedroom door with my body pressing against hers.

Her eyes were wide, and I couldn’t stop myself from pressing my lips to hers.

Blame it on adrenaline. Blame it on my lack of control over the situation—something in which I had to have at all times, or I got a bit lost.

Whatever my reasoning, I lost all semblance of control in that instant.

The moment my mouth touched hers, everything exploded around us.

The noise that I could hear—the kids screaming, the adults arguing, the constant groan of the air conditioner above our heads—all of that fell by the wayside as I got my first taste of my wife.

The woman that I’d been non-stop thinking about for so long.

One thousand, three hundred and thirty days, to be exact.

From the very first day that I’d run into her, I’d wanted her.

I hadn’t realized just how much until she’d slowly started to worm her way into my every thought sometime after her fourth visit to the penitentiary.

Though, it wasn’t until one of the inmates by the name of Randolph Remeron commented on how ‘hard he would fuck her ass’ after seeing her with me for the first time that I truly understood the depth of my feelings for her.

That was also the first and only time that I’d beaten the absolute dog piss out of someone.

That was also the day that I stopped wearing glasses during my prison stay because I realized what kind of danger they posed for me.

Getting glass in my eyeballs that one and only time had been the turning point for me.

That’d also been how I’d caught my very first scar on my eye.

I pulled back, my breath leaving me in pants, and stared at the woman in front of me.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” I admitted.

Her face fell and she went to push away, but I stayed firm.

“But I’m not sorry it happened,” I continued, my eyes taking in every single inch of her. “I’ve wanted to do that since the very first day I met you.”