Fuck staying out of it, he’s not gonna raise his voice at my woman.
I approach her from the side, and she gives me what I like to think is a relieved smile as she continues speaking to Slim. He glances at me but continues to act like I’m not there.
“You’re trying to punish me by moving my boy all the way to Phoenix,” the asshole whines.
“It’s less than two hours away, Dylan. I explained all of this to you already: the Chasers got me a job, and they’ll look out for us,” Marissa very patiently tells him as pride fills my chest. “Besides, the court will make sure you and I make a fair parenting plan, and you will get your share of time with DJ, don’t worry.”
More time than you spend with him now, I think to myself.
Rustling noises, followed by coos and gurgles, suddenly sound from the back pocket of Marissa’s jeans.
She pulls out the baby monitor and turns to me. “It’s DJ, I’ll go get him.”
She briefly places her palm on my chest as she says it, and the gesture, coupled with Slim’s hateful gaze, makes me feel ten feet tall.
“And who the fuck are you?” He asks me after she runs off.
“I’m Hawk. The Chaser who was kidnapped with Marissa,” I tell him, keeping my face open and friendly because, to some degree, I understand him.
He’s worried about who’s gonna be around his kid.
I want him to know that I’m not a threat to the lil’ guy, but at the same time, I still despise him, so I add, “I came to help Marissa move, since, you know, she doesn’t have a car.”
My bullet hits its mark, and I see Slim’s fists clench. He runs his tongue over his teeth, then comes up with something to say.
“About the guys who took Marissa... You don't have to worry. They won’t be a problem,” he tells me confidently. “They got their money.”
My forehead scrunches. “Why would you pay off the guys who kidnapped her after they let her go?”
He glances at Rebel, who takes it as her cue to start walking towards us.
“Oh, I get it,” I say with a wide smile. “Wow.”
“Babe,” Slim’s wife says in a raspy voice as she saunters up to his side, looking at me the whole time. “Sly texted me, he wants us back at the clubhouse ASAP.”
She then turns to me.
“Hi, I’m Rebel,” she says a little too warmly as she extends her hand.
I stare at it without responding, so she drops it after a moment. Slim’s jaw pulses.
“We’ll head out in a minute. DJ just woke up, and I wanna say goodbye to him,” he tells her as he rubs her back.
Her upper lip twitches before she says, “Okay. I’ll tell Sly.”
Interesting, but I have more important things to worry about than Rebel’s microexpressions.
I see Marissa walking up to us, holding the cutest, happiest, drooliest baby boy. He looks just like her. Her son. I feel like my heart and soul are trying to bust out of their home.
Marissa, on the other hand, is watching Rebel retreat. Her whole body has curved in on itself, like she got stabbed in the stomach and is trying to close the wound. She's holding her boy up like a shield.
I caress his little closed fist with the back of my index finger as Marissa’s eyes stare back at me from his face. We share a long look. His gaze is searching, like he’s already protective of his mom and wants to size me up. Good.
Slim reaches for the boy, and she hands him over.
“Hey Junior,” he murmurs with a tenderness that makes him almost likable for a second.
As he walks off to the side with his son, I marvel at the contrast between the boy’s milky-white, brand-new skin and the almost completely filled canvas of his father’s body.
