Unbeautifully (24 page)

This wasn’t love. It was hate. And love.

That fine line had been destroyed.

Mutilated.

He wanted to knock her fucking teeth out.

No, he wanted to take her to bed and fuck her the way he used to, feel the way he used to feel when he was inside of her. Not like this, never like this. This shit was nothing but an outlet for empty rage and bone-crushing heartache.

He wanted to cry.

Instead, he came.

“Fuck!” she screamed, shoving at him. “Get out of me! Ripper, pull out!”

He stumbled backward, bent over, groaning as he continued to finish.

“You fucking asshole,” she hissed, kicking him in the calf. “You came in me!”

“Sorry, bitch,” he gritted out, glaring up at her as he straightened out his body. “Didn’t mean to piss all over Z’s territory.”

He should have expected it after the way they’d just fucked, that one wrong comment and she was going to go ballistic, but he was still in shock from finding her in his shower, from fucking her and then coming only seconds ago.

The moment she barreled into him, her nails going right for his face, his feet slipped out from under him and they both went down hard. Cursing, he tried to grab her, but she was flailing, soaking wet, and he couldn’t get a good grip on her. Finally he just gave up, lay there on the bathtub floor, trying to shield his face until she tired herself out.

At least that had been the plan until something she said in between her bouts of cursing and hysterical nonsense shocked the ever-loving shit out of him.

Renewed strength born from heart-stopping rage had him grabbing her, throwing her carelessly over the side of the tub, and following her over. Pinning her arms above her head, he straddled her and grabbed her chin hard enough to bruise, forcing her to look at him.

“What the fuck did you say?”

“That I fucking hate you!”

He squeezed harder and she whimpered.

“Answer me,” he growled.

“I was pregnant,” she hissed. “And I had an abortion. Happy?”

Was he happy? Was he motherfucking
happy
she’d killed his kid? Never once during the five billion psychotic voice mail messages she’d left him had she mentioned being pregnant or having an abortion. He would have come home. He would have come the fuck home.

Releasing her, he got to his feet. “Get out,” he snarled. “Get the fuck outta my room!”

Trembling with rage, Danny rolled over and jumped to her feet. “You left me,” she vehemently accused. “You fucking left me!”

“All that cryin’ you fuckin’ did, callin’ me all the time, and not once did you mention bein’ pregnant! Not once!”

“You left me!”

“Is that all you know how to say?” he yelled as he bent down to grab her clothing. Shoving it at her, he pushed her backward, out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. “GET OUT!” he roared, then slammed closed the bathroom door.

He waited until he heard his bedroom door open and close, then sank to his knees. Pregnant.
Pregnant.
She’d been fucking pregnant. And she’d killed it. She’d killed his baby.

His baby.

Jesus, he was going to throw up.

Staggering to his feet, Ripper sent his fist into the bathroom door, then his boot, then his fist again and his boot again, and again and again until he was tired of beating on the door and spun around only to be greeted with his fucked-up reflection in the mirror.

“FUCK YOU!” he roared as his fist shot out. The mirror shattered on impact.

Shattered.

Just like his fucking life.

He’d stay for the wedding but afterward he was putting miles of road between him and anything to do with Danielle West. And this time when he left, he was throwing his cell phone in a lake and making sure no one, not even Deuce, would be able to find him ever again.

Deuce wasn’t gonna lie. With his hair pulled tightly back, dressed in his leathers, a clean white tee, and his Horsemen cut, standing there in the middle of a motherfucking gazebo decorated with motherfucking flowers, he felt damn uncomfortable. Didn’t help that Mick, Cox, and Ripper were laughing at him, and standing across from them was Kami, Danny, and Dorothy, all dressed in matching black dresses, also laughing at him.

Yeah, real fucking funny. Bet they wouldn’t think it was funny if he pulled out his Glock and took out their knees. Except for Danny. He wouldn’t shoot his baby. Just glare at her until she ran away. Which she wouldn’t because she never did, because she wasn’t scared of him. His feisty little girl, during this past year, had developed her mother’s tough-as-nails personality. Funny that Danny being the way she was didn’t bother him nearly as much as Christine had.

Nostrils flaring, shifting uncomfortably, he glared at the minister, an older woman with long white hair dressed in white and purple robes, smiling serenely back at him.

He caught himself before he growled at her.

Why the fuck was he getting married?

Again?

Because he sure as hell fucked it up the last time. He didn’t know the first thing about how to be a husband. All he knew, all he’d ever known, was how to be a provider. To make sure the people he loved were safe, well fed, and warm, and in Danny’s case and now Eva and Ivy’s, spoiled shitless too. Although, he figured the giant shoe pile of Chucks in his foyer was a pretty good trade-off for the woman he had in his bed.

But a husband…

He didn’t do husband. What the fuck did husbands do, anyway? He sure as hell didn’t do it right with Christine. She had wanted so much more from him than he’d been willing to give. Then he’d known how to give. She’d wanted to bend him to her will, own him even.

Aw, Jesus…he couldn’t pretend to be someone he wasn’t. He couldn’t put a ring on Eva’s finger. He couldn’t fuck her up like he had Christine. Like he did everything.

“Prez,” Mick whispered, leaning over.

His head snapped left. “What?” he snarled.

Mick’s lips twitched. “Nothin’, Prez, just thought maybe you’d wanna watch your bitch walkin’ down the aisle.” Mick’s chin jerked left and Deuce’s gaze followed.

Suddenly he didn’t give two fucks about how he was going to fare as a husband or how many mistakes he was going to make, which was going to be a lot because, well…that was what he was best at.

No, he didn’t care about anything else in the world except for his woman, the sweetest kid he’d ever met, the smartest too, a kid who’d turned into the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. A woman who didn’t just love with her whole heart but with her body and soul. A woman who, time and time again, brought him to his fucking knees, had him praying to a god he didn’t believe in just so he could keep her by his side.

A woman whose motherfucking smile made the world and his life seem somewhat livable. Even worth it sometimes.

On the arm of Preacher was his Eva. Her soft hair hung long in dark brown waves, her makeup was minimal, and her dress was a simple, strapless white cotton sundress that ended at her knees. His gaze traveled down her silky smooth legs to her feet and his chest constricted. Black Chucks. And not just any black Chucks but her oldest pair. Ratty, doodled on, coming apart at the seams, the same ones she’d been wearing the very first time he’d kissed her. Back when she’d been way too young for him and he’d lost complete control of himself and his better judgment.

Eva came to a stop at the bottom step of the gazebo and looked up at him, her big gray eyes shining, her luscious lips twitching something fierce, trying not to smile while Preacher straight up glared at him. Deuce glared back. If her old man wanted a fight, he was going to get one.

“Yo, Prez.” Cox laughed. “You’re gonna wanna go get her, right?”

Oh. Right.

He strode forward, taking all three steps at once, and grabbed Eva away from Preacher and started yanking her back up the stairs. The faster they could get this shit over with, the faster he could get her alone. And set to working on kid number two.

Preacher yanked her back and the two of them spent another good minute glaring at each other.

“You’ll always be my baby girl,” Preacher whispered, giving Eva a kiss on the cheek, shooting eye daggers at him.

Yeah, fucking right, he thought, dragging Eva up the steps. Eva was his. All his. Ain’t no man, not even her father, should be thinking otherwise.

“I have a bra on,” Eva whispered, unable to fight her grin any longer. “It’s my something new.”

He couldn’t help himself and burst out laughing. She was just so damn…perfect.

“Something old,” she continued, pointing at her feet.

“Something borrowed.” She grabbed his gold Horsemen’s tag around her neck. The one that had deuce inscribed on the back.

“Borrowed for fuckin’ ever,” he said gruffly. Ain’t no way she was ever giving that back. Her grin grew.

“My dress is white,” she continued. “And I’m wearing your blue boxers.”

The entire wedding party roared with laughter.

“Oh, Evie.” Kami sighed. “I told you not to do that!”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, grabbing her arm and turning her toward the minister. “Let’s get this fuckin’ circus over with.”

Still smiling, although regarding Eva strangely, the minister ushered them closer. “Ready?” the minister asked.

“Fuck, yeah,” he said gruffly. “This bitch is mine.”

This time everyone in the entire yard erupted in laughter. Except for Eva. She was staring up at him, her smile wide, her eyes soft. Damn those eyes, drowning him in nothing but Eva.

“I, Eva Fox, take you, Cole West, to be my beloved husband,” Eva softly repeated. “To have and to hold you, to honor you, to treasure you, to be at your side in sorrow and in joy, in the good times and in the bad, and to love and cherish you always. I promise you this, baby, from the bottom of my heart, for all the days of my life.”

Deuce stared down at her, burning with a whole mess of emotions he was helpless to turn off. Burning because he knew he’d never get enough of her. Burning because he wanted to pick her up, take her inside the clubhouse, strip her naked, and knock her up again just to make sure she’d never leave. Burning because after all the shit they’d gone through—the pain, the loss, the heartache, the straight up evil brutality that made them question everything they’d thought to be true and had nearly driven them apart for good—he knew he’d do anything for her. Steal anything, kill anyone, be anyone.

Even a fucking husband.

“Baby,” Eva whispered, grinning. “It’s your turn.”

He glanced over at the waiting minister, then back at Eva. “What she said,” he grunted. Then he turned to their guests.

“This is it,” he bellowed. “This here is me and fuckin’ Eva and this is our fuckin’ road and anyone who doesn’t like it, anyone who’s got somethin’ fucked-up to say, can get the fuck off our road!”

The crowd—his boys, their family and friends, even Preacher—erupted in happy cheers and laughter.

“You may kiss your bride,” the minister said, shaking her head.

He didn’t waste any time. He grabbed his woman, his wife, his Eva and lifted her off her feet and crushed her to him. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck, and their mouths crashed together.

“’Bout fuckin’ time!” Blue bellowed from his place at the bar just before “Born to be Wild” blasted through the outside speakers and drowned out the cheering.

Eva pulled away laughing, happy tears rolling down her cheeks. He curled his hand into a fist and ran his knuckles down the side of her face.

“There it is,” he whispered.

“What?” she whispered back.

“You, Eva. Just fuckin’ you.”

They both turned to watch as Kami threw herself across the aisle at Cox. Beside them, Dorothy buried her face in her hands, her veil of red hair shielding her from view, and burst into tears.

Mick rolled his eyes. “Idiots,” he muttered. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

And Danny…he paused to study his oldest daughter.

“Mama!” Ivy cried out, bursting out of the crowd, gunning for Eva. Eva turned away from him to bend down and catch their daughter as she toddled up the stairs and into her mother’s arms.

Deuce looked back to Danny, worried about the strange expression on her face. He followed her line of sight to…

Ripper?

They appeared to be having some kind of staring contest, the rest of the world forgotten, no winner in sight.

What the fuck?

“Yo, Danny!” ZZ said, appearing beside his daughter, startling her. She turned to ZZ.

“You wanna dance?”

Danny shot one last look at Ripper, turned back to ZZ, and nodded. Deuce watched them walk off—already planning on how many different ways he was gonna beat ZZ to death—then got up in his former sergeant at arms’ face.

“What was that?” he growled.

Ripper eyed him boldly. “What was what?”

His nostrils flared. “You. Danny. What. Was. It.”

“Baby,” Eva said, wedging herself in between them. “I wanna dance.”

Of course she did. She always had him doing stupid shit like dancing. And for some reason he was always doing it, even though he fucking hated it.

“Later,” he promised Ripper, and allowed his new wife to drag him off.

“When can we get the fuck outta here?” he asked her.

Laughing, she wrapped her arms around his neck and tucked her beautiful body against his. “I love you, Deuce.” She giggled. “So, so much.”

“Babe,” he said softly, holding her tightly. “Fuckin’ yeah.”

“One more thing,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“You’re mine.”

He grinned. He sure as fuck was.

• • •

With Deuce as far away from Ripper as she could get him, Eva thanked god she’d interrupted the two of them before Ripper said something out of anger and blood was shed. The guy looked strung out, both pain and fury deeply etched in his features, and he hadn’t stopped staring at Danny since breakfast this morning. Glaring, really. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. It was a wonder no one had noticed yet. Although…

She glanced around the crowded lawn, her eyes landing on Cox, who also seemed to be more concerned with Ripper than Kami’s violent attempts at getting him to dance with her.