Wild Like the Wind (Page 51)

“A coupla minutes, you can find that in you, Hound,” I called.

He was facing front, and at my call only turned his head to the side.

But he didn’t turn on his bike toward me.

When I made it to him, I found it fortuitous that I could look down at him.

His long torso was proportioned well with his long legs so I didn’t get to look too far down on him.

But at least I could look down at him.

“First, the preliminaries, and no matter the colossal motherfucking dick you’ve proved yourself to be, it has to be said, I’m very sorry about Jean,” I declared to start.

The blank left his face, and I felt him rocket right to fury, not at me bringing up Jean, at me calling him a colossal dick, but I did not give that first shit.

“Second,” I kept going before he could even open his mouth, “it’s clear you misinterpreted what I was doing when I was at your scales tat. If you even have a smidge of respect left for me, you’ll allow me to explain that I was trying, like I had been for two fucking months, to guide you to a place where you’d get past feeling you were being disloyal to your brother, where you’d get to the point you were willing to face what the brotherhood might land on you if they knew we’d become what we’d become, and you’d fight to make it to the other side with me.”

“Do not try to feed me this shit, woman,” he rumbled.

That pissed me off (more).

But I ignored him and kept talking like he had not.

“In all we had, and there was a lot, one of the things I felt was beautiful, not the most beautiful, other stuff we had was far more beautiful, but I still thought it was beautiful, and that was that we both had him. We both loved him. He loved both of us. I’m sure you’ll twist this, and hey, it might be twisted. But I don’t give a shit. I loved that. I loved that you got what he was to me. I loved that wasn’t something I’d ever have to explain or hide. I loved that you loved him so much you had him inked into your body. I loved that he wasn’t between us, he was a part of us. Both of us. I loved that I got to have something new and beautiful with you at the same time I got to share him with you. And last, I loved you had that reaper and would understand how important it was to be smart and stay safe so you wouldn’t be torn away from the people who love you.”

I also ignored how his expression had now changed.

The fury was gone.

Shock had replaced it.

“Then you put him between us,” I went on. “Dragged his spirit right there not like the shield you’d been using, but like a weapon. That I didn’t love, Hound. That was fucked up. And how you put your hands on me made it worse.”

His face started to soften and warm and he turned his torso my way so he was sitting on his bike still, but fully facing me.

“Keely—”

I talked over him.

I had to.

He’d had his chance.

He wasn’t getting in there again.

“For two months you didn’t pay one single bit of attention to one single fucking thing I did. Not one, Hound. Not that first one. If you did, you’d know I knew precisely whose cock I was sucking. Whose cock I was fucking. Whose cock I,” I leaned toward him, “invited up my ass because it was damned important to give that to you. To make sure you knew you had something of me he never got. To make sure you knew I was inviting you inside me every way I could take you. You missed that, Hound. You missed it, but you had enough hold on it to twist it into something ugly and foul and shove it in my face while you had your fist in my hair and you made us done. So just to confirm, I got your message and we’re done. So fucking done.”

“Baby—” he tried to get in.

I did not let him.

“Now, you gave my boys that,” I flung my arm behind me, “and as ever, I appreciate it. What I would appreciate from this point on is if they need something like that and you’re gonna be in my space, you give me a heads up. I don’t wanna see you. I don’t wanna breathe your air. But you mean the world to my boys so I’m not gonna get that. So again, if you have any respect left for me, give me warning I gotta endure your presence. Yeah?”

“Keekee—” he whispered, his expression now haggard, like he wore it at Jean’s graveside.

God.

Christ.

“Fuck you,” I whispered back. “I’ll never forgive you for what you thought of me, what you did to us. Fuck you for not being the man I thought you were. Fuck you for not being the man I needed you to be.”

That did not get me haggard.

That got me wrecked.

“Kee—”

He cut himself off because I had to end it there before his reaction started working on me.

So I turned and trooped up to the house, fighting real hard not to do it running.

I slammed the door behind me and stomped right to the stairs, starting up them, yelling, “Enjoy the cookies. After that big decision got made, Momma needs a bubble bath.”

And hearing Hound’s bike roar outside, I realized I really, really did.

Motherfucking dick!

“Ma,” Dutch growled in a way I turned halfway up to look down to see him at the foot, staring up, Jagger coming to stand by his side. “You sort your shit with Hound?”

I stared back at him, my heart tripping over itself, fast, furious and full of fear.

In the time my sons had been spending with him after Jean, had Hound shared?

“What shit?” I asked.

“You two bein’ broken up,” Jag said.

Oh fuck.

He’d shared.

“What did Hound tell you?” I snapped.

“Nothin’,” Dutch said. “Hound cleaning up his place, clearing out old furniture to get new and your car at his pad told us. Jag went up once, didn’t see your car, just wanted to see Hound’s new shit, and heard you in his apartment, laughing with him. When he left, that’s when he saw your car.”

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

“You know about Jean. You were at the funeral. You didn’t even walk up to him, say that first word. What the fuck’s up with you dumping him right when he lost that old lady?” Dutch asked.

Oh my God.

My boys were taking Hound’s side.

Before I could answer, Jagger threw his own question in. “And did you know her? Like, before. When she was alive?”

“Shortly,” I pushed out.

That visibly did not make either of my sons happy.

“I get you kept shit under wraps with Hound, though you coulda told us and not snuck around like a goddamned teenager,” Dutch clipped. “But it woulda been nice to have met a woman that meant what that old lady did to Hound.”

Um, excuse me?

It wasn’t me who kept Jean from my boys.

“And speakin’ a’ that,” Jagger butted in again before I could make a peep, “you’re our mother and he’s been our stepdad without sleepin’ with our mom for, oh . . . I don’t know, fuckin’ ever,” he bit out his last. “Maybe call a family meal with Hound where he should have been for about the last decade, at our table, and say, ‘Okay, boys, your momma and your Hound have finally got their heads outta their asses and we’re doin’ this. Now pass the mashed potatoes.’”

That was kinda funny.

I was not laughing.

“This isn’t any of either of your business,” I told them truthfully.

“And that’s full of shit,” Dutch shot back. “Because you’re ours and he’s ours and we’ve been a fuckin’ family since Dad died, and we got a shot at makin’ that real and somehow it got dicked up and that’s impossible because he loves you like Tack loves Cherry, like Hop loves Lanie, and you know what that kinda thing means. Now we arrange this so you two will be forced to get your heads outta your asses, again, and you’re having a bubble bath and Hound’s . . . whatever the fuck he’s doin’.”