Page 50 of Contracted to the Bikers

The clubhouse door opens, bathing the lot in light, the sound sharpening, invading our privacy. Boots crunch on gravel, and the smell of smoke wafts over. I turn my head, worrying we’ll be caught, that we’ll have to stop.

Sloane’s hand cups my cheek, pulling my gaze back to her. “Stay with me,” she mouths.

“Always,” I reply softly, meaning every word. No matter what happened between the guys and me, I will make it work if it means being with Sloane. I can’t lose her; I don’t want to lose my friends, my family. I will make this work. It has to. I said I would let her go to protect her, but I don’t know if I could now. I’d follow her to the ends of the earth instead.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she pants, her breath tickling my neck.

Spurred on by her words, I fuck her faster. Her eyes hold mine, grounding me. I don’t care if whoever is out here can hear us. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s fucked in this alley. And I don’t give a damn if they watch, all I care about is Sloane, she’s all I see.

The would-be intruder heads back inside, and Sloane moans loudly, as if she’d been holding it in. “I’m so fucking close, baby, cum with me,” she pleads.

I feel her pussy tightening, growing slicker as she reaches her climax, which only brings me closer to mine. She claws at my back as she tumbles over the edge, pulling me with her. As I pump deep inside her, letting go of the last ounce of control, I tell her, “I fucking love you, Sloane Mercer.”

“I fucking love you too, Boone,” she says, kissing me again.

I don’t know what the future holds, and I’m still furious with the guys for lying to me, for hiding something so big, but I know I will make it work for her. I’d do anything to make her happy, to keep her safe. I know she is telling the truth when she says she loves me, but I’m not the only one she loves. I can’t make her choose. I’ll never make her choose.

Chapter 20

Sloane

Things have been tense between the guys since Boone found out that Rook and Cruz had been lying to him. I can tell they’re trying for my sake, but Rook is too stubborn, Cruz too volatile, and Boone too wounded for it to fix quickly. As much as they are trying to mend what’s been broken for me, Jessy is the glue that will bind the shattered pieces back together.

She doesn’t seem to notice or care about the tension between the men, and she has demanded that they all play with her this morning. They sit spread out on the clubhouse floor, dinosaurs in front of them, wearing identical expressions of concentration and seriousness as Jessy explains the game. The few club members enjoying their breakfast don’t seem to mind, or perhaps they know Rook has been grouchier than usual lately and will tear them a new one if they complain. I smile as I watch them. It’s one of the things I love most about my men, how good they are with Jessy.

Perhaps my baby is more astute than I gave her credit for, since the game sounds an awful lot like our current situation.

“So, the dinosaurs are at war with the monsters,” she says solemnly. “The T. rex is in charge, he’s the president.” She hands the plastic T. rex to Rook. “The Triceratops is his main general; he’s good at fighting.” She hands the Triceratops toy to Cruz, who grins at the comparison. “Then there is the Stegosaurus. He is big and strong. But he only fights to protect his herd.” This one, she hands to Boone, who reverently takes it as if she’s handed him an award.

“In real life, these dinosaurs weren’t friends,” she makes sure to point out, ever the teacher. It makes me smile, and I wonder if that might be a career path she chooses one day. “But in our game, the dinosaurs have joined together to fight the evil monsters. The dinosaurs rescued the baby Velociraptor, but now they are fighting.”

The guys share a guilty glance. “Why are they fighting?” Boone asks softly, looking up at me.

Jessy ponders this for a moment. I’m relieved to know that, while she’s picked up that something is wrong, she doesn’t know why. “I don’t know. Maybe they’re just not used to working together, but they need to, or else the bad guys will win.”

Rook nods. “That’s a good idea.”

“Miss Stephanie says that our differences are what make us special and that we should always get along and accept each other even if we’re different.” Jessy looks at the guys pointedly, and I can’t help but grin at her using her therapist’s words to make three grown men work through their differences. Cruz catches my eye and smiles wryly at me. I shrug and shake my head. If Jessy can make them finally work out their differences, I’m all for it.

“Miss Stephanie is right,” Boone agrees.

Satisfied, Jessy continues to not-so-subtly lecture the guys about friendship and about not staying mad when your friend has upset you. I sometimes wonder how I managed to raise such a smart, confident little girl. It’s clear that she adores the guys and wants everyone to be happy. I didn’t realize just how much she was missing a father figure in her life until coming here.

A fresh wave of anger against my ex-husband, long since buried, breaks to the surface. Connor wasn’t a bad man, just an ordinary one, a typical cliché of a man who turned tail and ran when things got tough. Sex became non-existent in our relationship following Jessy’s birth. I became swamped with work on the Escar case, a case Connor always said I should never have taken.

He was very vocal about how it was too dangerous—I guess he was right after all about that. He was busy with work too. We were like ships passing in the night, barely seeing each other. When he got offered a new, better job in a different state, I wasn’t surprised that he wanted to take it. But I didn’t want to move, didn’t want to give up my career to further his. He made his choice, and I made mine.

He chose to leave me, to leave Jessy. Apart from sending Jessy cards on her birthday and at Christmas, he hasn’t been in contact. Jessy can hardly remember him; she was only three when he walked out on us. That’s the hardest part, not that he left me, our marriage was over long before he left, but that he didn’t even try to be a father to Jessy.

You can imagine my shock and confusion when, at the very moment I’m thinking about my ex-husband for the first time in almost two years, he walks through the door. I blink, my brain stuttering and trying to process if this is just some figment of my imagination.

He looks the same as I remember, at least at first, but then I notice the fresh lines around his eyes, the flecks of gray in his hair. He looks well. A little older, but more relaxed. I guess that’s easy when you abandon all your responsibilities.

His eyes scan the room, lip curling a little with distaste. Connor was always the kind of man who cared about outward appearances, liking things that were popular rather than because he actually enjoyed them. I remember for his birthday one year, I brought him an expensive bottle of scotch, only to discover that he didn’t actually like the taste; he just drank it because it was a status symbol, something wealthy men drank.

His gaze lands on me, and I see him do a double take. I suppose my transformation is greater than his. I’m wearing a summer dress that skims my curves, instead of the tailored pantsuits he preferred me in, and my hair soft and loose instead of scraped back in a businesslike bun.

“Sloane?” he asks, stepping closer.