Her nostrils flare as she looms closer, the smell of fresh air and something salty looming off her skin. “Don’t mention that shit again. It has nothing to do with you.”
“So you’re saying it’s Reeve’s child?”
“It’snoone’s child,” she rebuffs harshly. “So, shut up before I go ahead and have them bound and gag you.”
I bow carefully, not to go too low because I already strained my body with the blows I delivered to Ramsey’s head.
I wasn’t ready to move around that much, and I’m going to regret the shit later.
“Are we done here?”
My eyes shoot up to hers, and I can’t help but blurt out, “I love you, Wildfire. And I’m always going to fucking love you.”
She rolls her eyes at me before turning on her heels and walking away.
My focus falls on her ass, and fuck me.
She still gets me rock hard and turned on when she denies me.
THIRTY-EIGHT
bay
Ozzy is scaringthe shit out of elementary kids as he stands next to me, tattooed arms crossed over his chest and dressed in his standard all-black attire. Their eyes are wide and fearful as they scurry past the principal’s office to whatever classroom they’re supposed to be in.
I’m at Mae’s school, receiving a call this morning that she was having trouble in class, and I immediately ran over here to see what I could do to help.
I feel awful.
My time has been limited regarding her, and I’ve been failing to ensure I have enough. She isn’t her normal bouncy self as of late, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out how she’s starting to realize Levi’s gone.
He’s not coming back.
Which makes me feel like a cunt and a half.
“Oz,” I mutter, looking up at him from the chair I’m sitting in. “You wanna sit down?”
He continues to scan the halls, as if some seven-year-old is about to come up and shank one of us.
“Ozzy.”
Still nothing.
“Husband.” I never thought the word would register, but he steals a glance down at me with his stoic features. “Sit down.”
He glimpses back at the kids before stepping backward and slowly taking a seat.
“I promise you, we’re safe.”
I don’t get an affirmative answer from him. He’s always on his guard and ready for the worst. Something I should be grateful for.
“Miss Astor?”
Looking over my shoulder, a middle-aged woman with a beige pencil skirt and matching top stands in the Principal’s doorway with her hands folded.
“I’m ready…for you.”
A sliver of fear appears over her face, and I immediately blame it all on Ozzy.
