Betrayal spreads through my veins.
He watched her beat me? From behind? Sneaking up on me so I had no way to defend myself?
Shit.
“It’s all over now,” he whispers.
I swallow. “I guess you’re right.”
“Tough with prospects,” he admits. “Never know who they really are until they’re tested. Won’t be leaving you with one again. Only full-fledged members.”
“Tracker—”
“You’re keeping it together well, baby, proud of you. You know we set cameras up in here and left you guys alone; I felt like we were using you as bait. Fuckin’ hated it; didn’t sleep a wink last night. Only thing that kept me sane was that Talon was close by if need be, and Sin was watching the live footage.” He pauses. “Sad part was Blade looked . . . gutted over Allie. He went into that bathroom and cried. He killed her, then fuckin’ cried about it.”
He swallows hard, trying to salvage some control.
“Must have been hard to watch.”
“It was. He must have been a bit unstable to do that. Or maybe he thought there would be no ramifications. The fact that he tried to pin it on Vinnie, a brother, shows he has no loyalty.”
“Did you know Blade and Allie were sleeping together?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No clue. She must have been sneaking around with him when I got with you. I don’t know how she got him to come with her when she broke into your house. The two of them together . . . two psychos.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“I was just thinking about you, Lana. Knew Faye would have your back. She stayed up all night walking around the house, keeping an eye on everyone.”
“Faye knew, but we didn’t?” I ask, feeling a little hurt over it. “What if something else had happened? Wouldn’t it have been better if we knew what to expect?”
Tracker’s eyes soften. “Knew Faye would look after you. Didn’t want to worry you. Sometimes you need to trust my decisions, all right? I always have you in my mind. First priority.”
“I do trust you.”
“Good. Now give me those lips,” he demands.
I kiss his lips softy and gently.
* * *
I’m doing something I never thought I’d be doing.
Having dinner with my mom and dad.
Together.
It’s weird, yet nice.
“How’s school going?” my dad asks.
“Good,” I reply. “Between school and writing, I’m keeping busy.”
“And Tracker,” my mom adds, eyes filled with mirth. “When will the two of you be getting married?”
I almost choke on my mouthful of wine. “Not just yet.”
“Guess I’ll be waiting awhile to be a grandmother then,” she sulks.
Dad, on the other hand, looks relieved but stays quiet.
“So you were good friends with the old president?” I ask him.
He nods. “Yes, Jim and I were really close. He was a good man.”
“Sin is a good club president.”
Dad nods. “Yes, he is.”
“Where is Tracker tonight?” Mom asks, sipping her drink.
“He had some club business to attend to,” I say. “He’ll be back later to pick me up.”
We talk all night. It’s nice, but it makes me wonder, What if ? What if my dad chose to stay with us instead of his career?
At the end of the day, I guess it doesn’t really matter.
I’m living in the now, and life is good.
THIRTY-FOUR
DO I have to do this?” Tracker growls. “Do you know how much shit I’m going to get for it?”
I do know, but I don’t care. He said he’d do it, and now he has to.
“We’re here, you may as well just get it done with. Plus, you look fucking sexy right now.”
“Christ, woman, the things I do for you,” he says with a defeated sigh. “This right here proves my love for you. I wouldn’t do this shit for anyone else.”
“I know,” I tell him. “And I appreciate it.”
“You better,” he scowls, fiddling with the hat on his head.
I bite my lip, trying not to grin at his predicament. He is so uncomfortable. Tracker knows he’s good-looking, but I know doing something like this isn’t really him. He uses his charm to get women, but I don’t actually think he’s vain. He’s just confident, and this really isn’t his style. Still, I can’t help but admire him. His ripped body, his tattoos, the V of his hips, he is phenomenal. Don’t get me started on his six-pack, because I could write a whole book on how amazing it is.
“You’re the one who chased away Wyatt, now you can fill his shoes,” I say, gesturing for the photographer to continue with the photo shoot. “We only need a few more shots. Please, Tracker.”
“Wyatt was a fuckhead,” he says, flexing his biceps enticingly.
“Yeah, he wouldn’t even return my call when I needed him for another cover.”
“Good, he’s smarter than he looks.”
“Well then stop complaining,” I say, trying not to laugh.
Tracker rubs the back of his neck, then does as he’s told, following the photographer’s orders. My new book is a cowboy romance, so Tracker is bare-chested with a cowboy hat, jeans, and chaps, along with the boots to match.
He looks fucking sexy.
His blond hair is down, hitting his shoulders in slight waves, the stubble on his face thicker than usual.