Owned: Book 4 in the Forever After series Page 2

  Kristina was born when I was five, almost six, Jayla two years later, and Lydia the year after that. In the space of five years, we went from a family of four to a family of eight, and all of us were miserable.

  Thankfully, Lucy, like mom, didn’t hang around for long after Lydia was born. She too claimed that dad was more interested in his children than making sure she was taken care of properly. So once again, my dad was left holding the bag, but this time, instead of three kids, he had six.

  Levi was eleven when Lucy left in the middle of the night without a word to anyone about where she was going or if she was ever coming back. Between the boys and me, even though I was only nine at the time, we helped dad look after the girls and kept the house running as best we could.

  None of us begrudged helping dad, we all pitched in and did our part, but that didn’t mean it was easy. The boys were just starting to notice girls and were focused on trying out for the school’s baseball team, leaving me to pick up the slack. Eventually, I took over nearly all of the household

  chores, cooking, cleaning, and taking care of the three hellions that liked nothing more than to make life harder for all of us.

  In the beginning, I figured that Kristina, Jayla, and Lydia were just adjusting to life without their mom, that they would settle down when the realized this was their new normal. But that didn’t happen; it still hasn’t. And things only got worse when dad started working with Lucifer, running his own business.

  Dad’s best friend, Chase – yes, I know, their names rhyme – was looking to expand his business, and with Lucifer’s help, they’ve done that and then some. They’re smart, excellent at reading people and finding patterns in people’s behavior where there don’t seem to be any. They excel at what they do, which is why Sentinel Enforcement Services is now the most sought after bond and skip enforcement company this side of the Ark-La-Tex.

  Speaking of reading people, Lucifer’s eyes scan my face for any signs of weakness, before repeating, “I asked you a question, Tatum, and I expect an answer. Why the fuck would you agree to go on a date when you’re wearing my ring?”

  It probably isn’t the most mature response to point out I’m not actually wearing a ring, but no one ever said I had to be a grown-up all the time. “Ah, hate to break it to you, big guy, but I haven’t worn your ring since the day we got home from Nevada.”

  Lucifer’s face turns an interesting shade of red as his grip on my wrist tightens. “No need to break shit to me, sweetheart. I can see that for myself. That still doesn’t answer my question, though, babe.”

  Yeah, about that.

  Josh has been my partner since he moved to Waterfield two and a half years ago. Previously, he worked with the Ripley Fire Department in Arizona. Josh’s mom, Mabel was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s a little less than three years ago. He knew it wouldn’t be long before she would need someone to watch over her when he couldn’t, so Josh went to his mom’s only living relative, his aunt, Lulamae for help.

  There is a significant age gap between the sisters, what with Mabel in her early fifties, and Lulamae being only thirty-six, but that doesn’t change the fact that they are as close as two sisters could be. So, with someone to care for Mabel, Josh was able to apply for the job with Waterfield’s fire department – a job which he was the only applicant for.

  I’m not completely naïve; I’m aware that Josh has feelings for me, not entirely professional feelings at that, but he hasn’t acted on them. A fact which I’m more than grateful for. Which is why Lucifer referring to me going out with a friend for dinner as a date serves only to piss me off.

  Shaking my head at the infuriating man in front of me, I grit my teeth and try to refrain from doing anything that may get me arrested for assault and battery. “You do understand that I’m allowed to have friends, right?”

  “Female friends, sure,” he quips with a careless shrug. “Men who want to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you, no.”

  “Jesus, Lucifer,” I hiss. “Not all of the men I meet want to fuck me. When will you get that through your thick head?”

  Dropping his head so that we’re eye to eye, Lucifer growls, “Around the same time you open your eyes and

  realize, you’re fucking wrong.”

  “Can we stop talking about this, please?” I ask, feeling highly uncomfortable all of a sudden.

  “Happy to,” he mutters. “Just as soon as you call the asshole and tell him the date’s canceled.”

  “It’s not a freaking date,” I bite out through gritted teeth. “We’re going to Jack’s to eat wings and drink beer, maybe shoot some pool for, God’s sake. He’s not taking me back to his place to cook dinner and seduce me.”

  There have been more than a few times in my life when I’ve let my mouth run away from me, and based on the deep rumble that starts in Lucifer’s chest and escapes his throat, this is one of them.

  In an instant, my body is jerked into his, and his arms come around my waist tightly, making it impossible for me to ignore his next words. “I know you like it when I take my hand to your ass, baby. Is that what you’re trying to do here? Get me to turn you over my knee, and spank that gorgeous ass of yours. Because I will if you say shit like that again. You’re mine, Tatum. My woman. My wife.”

  Working my hands up between our bodies, I lay my palms flat on the hard wall of Lucifer’s chest. “I’m sorry; I didn’t think before I spoke,” I whisper sincerely.

  “No, you didn’t,” he replies tersely. “That doesn’t change the fucking fact that I want you to call that motherfucker and tell him to find his own woman. He wants to eat wings and drink beer, then he can hook up with one of the bitches that troll Jack’s every Friday and Saturday night.”

  Not wanting to give up yet, I tell him, “Not happening, big guy. Josh is my friend, and I’m not canceling our plans just because you think he wants to sleep with me.”

  “He doesn’t want to sleep with you, Tatum. He wants to fuck you.”

  Shoving at his chest, I shout, “Whatever! It’s not going to happen, so I don’t care.”

  “Well, I fucking do,” he yells back. “You’re my wife, Tatum. The thought of you going out with another guy is driving me insane. It only makes shit worse that you refuse to wear my ring or tell anyone about us. I’ve given you time, Tate. Nearly four goddamn months and your dad and brothers still don’t know we’re together. You spend almost every night in my bed with my cock buried inside you, but you won’t tell your family we’re married. Enough is enough, Tatum. If you don’t tell them, I will.”

  “Lucifer,” I say carefully in warning.

  “No, Tate; I’m done fucking around. Either you come clean with your old man, today, or he and I are having a long overdue conversation come tomorrow morning.”

  Looking into his deep, forest green eyes, I can see the storm brewing there. He doesn’t want to have to break the promise to me the night we got hitched by a poor imitation of Liberace, but he will if I force his hand.

  I knew this day was coming; I just didn’t think it would be so soon. Granted, nearly four months, like Lucifer said isn’t soon, but I’m not ready yet. My brothers are going to shit bricks since they aren’t Lucifer’s biggest fans. And my dad. Well, he’s going to lose his ever-loving mind. They may work together, but for the most part, they barely tolerating each other’s presence in an effort to get the job done. When my dad finds out, I secretly married the man he under no certain terms told me to stay the hell away from, things at Chez Sentinel will be far from sunshine and roses.

  “Let me just...”

  “There is no just,” he snaps, cutting me off. “You’ve got until tonight, Tatum.”

  With that, Lucifer turns on his heel and strides out the door, leaving me alone to consider if going on the lamb might be the only viable way out of this mess.

  chapter THREE

  Lucifer

  “The path to inner peace begins with four words; not my fucking problem – Lucifer’s tex
t to Trace

  Before he knew I was in love with his daughter, and not long after my wife died, Trace approached me. He wanted me to come on board to help him take his friend Chase’s business to the next level. At first, I was skeptical, Trace wasn’t a fan of mine, and Chase barely tolerated me, but after the three of us sat down and they convinced me this wasn’t an elaborate plot to kill me, I reluctantly agreed.

  Trace later admitted that through, Tatum, he knew I was in a bad place, that I needed something to focus on before I fucked up and did something even more monumentally stupid than fall for his daughter. That last part wasn’t something he was aware of. At least he wasn’t yet, but he would be.

  My soul focus back then was wrecking vengeance one particular member of Devil’s Spawn MC. I put all my time and energy into hunting through Arrow’s financials, digging into his past, and fucking with his future. I was hell bent on bringing that motherfucker down, consequences be damned.

  If it helps, I had a good reason; my dead wife, Savannah. Because I loved Savannah – and don’t for a minute doubt that I did, despite how I feel about, Tatum – I reached out to Arrow, the VP of Devil’s Spawn MC, and his wife, Veronica, Savannah’s twin sister, a few months after we were told it was unlikely my wife would survive another five years. Savannah’s kidneys were shutting down from the same disease, her and Arrow’s son was diagnosed with; polycystic kidney disease. Dialysis and medication weren’t methods of treatment, they would only prolong her life expectancy while bringing her nothing but pain and suffering.

  There was a lot of talk about why I stepped down as the President of Satan’s Son, but none of it was even remotely true. Rumors that I was defecting, that I wasn’t committed to the brotherhood anymore, or that I’d had a falling out with my officers were rife. But the truth was, all I wanted to do was spend what little time Savannah had left, with her.

  My brothers supported my decision wholeheartedly. My best friend and VP, Bead, stepped up, taking over my role as President so that I could focus on my wife. Leaving the club didn’t sever my association with them, though. The boys were still around when I needed them, and their old ladies bringing food and offers of help over on almost a daily basis. I didn’t take them up on their kindness often, but when Savannah’s health started deteriorating rapidly, I was left with little choice.

  It didn’t matter to Satan’s Sons that Savannah originally came to be my wife because the club needed leverage, she was one of us, just like I had been. And while it would be a long time before anyone truly forgot that our relationship started out by me giving Savannah an ultimatum that she could marry me or her son would be used to pay her debt to the MC, it didn’t end that way.

  Savannah more than made a place for herself within the club. She was there for the birth of my brothers’ kids, she helped out with the clubs’ businesses, and she did her best to make me happy. To them, that’s all that mattered, the same as it did me.

  In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have done what I did, seeking Arrow out, but emotion drove me to make a decision that I hadn’t considered the full ramifications of. The stress of my wife’s diagnosis, the twice weekly trips to the hospital for treatment, and the woman who I couldn’t have but wanted desperately visiting daily to help take care of Savannah eventually took its toll. My wife deserved better than to die thinking that her only child hated her, and the knowledge that her entire family believed she was the devil incarnate.

  Deep down, Savannah wasn’t the monster they portrayed her to be. She wasn’t the patron saint of all things good either, but she wasn’t an evil person. Sure, she made some questionable decisions, but don’t we all? And, yes, she bartered herself to pay a debt, but there were mitigating circumstances as to why. Personally, I think trading your life for the life of your son is selfless, but what the hell do I know? If you ask, Arrow and Veronica, nothing, but fuck them and their little dog too. Those assholes wouldn’t know real sacrifice if it bit them on the ass.

  With all that in mind, I tried to heal the breach, but my first and only attempt to give my wife something she deserved above all else, peace, was met with hatred and contempt. Arrow and his wife, Veronica, Savannah’s sister didn’t give a fuck about my wife’s suffering. They went as far as to say exactly that when I showed up on their doorstep. Their only concern was that Kellen was safe and happy, that he was healthy.

  They had moved on to playing happy families while my wife, Kellan’s mother lay wasting away in a hospital bed. They also shared that they didn’t want Kellen to undergo the stress of his mother making a reappearance in his life, stating that it would only confuse him. For fuck’s sake, the kid was twelve years old by then, I hardly thought letting him see his mom one last time would fuck the boy up. But again, what did I know?

  I’ll never forget that day because it was a turning point for me. That day I looked at a man I had known for years, a man I respected and saw him for the piece of shit he was. I turned my back on him and his wife, vowing never to return, and walked away. I promised myself that if Arrow thought he, his wife or his son could turn up at Savannah’s funeral when she eventually did pass, they had another thing coming. Because as far as I was concerned, once I washed my hands of someone there was no redemption and no forgiveness for any of them.

  Four years, three months, and one week after the doctors told us Savannah had less than five years to live, she died. Thank fuck, it was at home and in the arms of a man I now have the privilege of calling a friend because that’s what she would have wanted.

  Savannah always said that she didn’t want to go surrounded by machines that were keeping her alive. She wanted to live and die free, and our home was as close as that got to being free for her. Austin, the man who was with her when she passed, wasn’t there intentionally; it was an act of sheer dumb luck that he was. It’s also something I’m insanely grateful for. Austin made my wife feel safe in her last minutes on this Earth. He held her while she took her last breath and long afterward until I could get home and say goodbye. I will never be able to repay him for making her last moments comfortable, but I’ll be damned if I don’t try.

  On a side note, Austin was also a big part of the reason I decided to bite the bullet and partner with Trace. He was aware that I didn’t want to leave the Waterfield, Lower Falls area, but he also knew that I couldn’t stay, not right now, at least. I needed time and space; I needed to grieve the loss of my wife. So Austin put forward, that with Trace, I could have the best of both worlds. I could have a permanent home base in Waterfield, but I would have the flexibility to travel and get away as needed. Not to mention, the job would give me something to focus on that wasn’t taking out my latent anger on Arrow and his band of merry fuckwit brothers.

  So, I did it. I called Trace and took the job. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t think out the ramifications of that choice either, because with Trace came Tatum. And that was a whole can of crazy I wasn’t ready for, and I’m not sure I ever will be.

  For the most part, shit worked out as it should have, though. Chase had spent the better part of a decade as the only bounty hunter this side of the Rocky Mountains west of Denver. He had more than enough business for ten men, let alone Trace and I, so we were never short of a dollar or a challenge. The deal was that Trace, and I would take over the collars that were, how do I put it? More resistant to paying their penance. While Chase would continue to work the local skips and liaise with law enforcement on all of our behalves.

  There was another difference as to how we ran our respective sides of our businesses, though, and that pertained to the lengths Trace, and I were willing to go to to bring a mark in. Chase was a man with morals. He was a single man with a young, impressionable daughter to worry about, which meant he was quick to turn down jobs that may require more violence than a stun gun to apprehend. I can’t blame him, kicking ass and taking names isn’t for everyone. However, Trace was in the same boat, but with four daughters and two sons, all of whom were also young and impressionable,
and it didn’t bother him in the least to Taser someone’s ass and drag them a mile to his SUV.

  The truth is, most men who skipped bail were scumbags with huge egos, and a desire not to be caught. So if that meant delivering an ass kicking or two, I was all in. It was just an added bonus that I enjoyed doing it and still do. This work suits me; it fit the man I became after leaving the MC. I get to choose which skips I take and when I work, and the money is fucking sensational. And while getting in my truck to chase after some asshole who’s skipped bond isn’t the same as getting on my bike and riding the highway until I either ran out of gas or decided to stop for the night, it was as close as I was going to get these days.

  Which brings us to now, and what I’m going to do about the woman that has driven me to distraction.

  Tatum may think she’s been smart in avoiding me, but what she doesn’t know is that I’ve got eyes on her, that I’m always watching. With that thought in the forefront of my mind, I allow a wicked grin to split my lips.

  “What the fuck are you smiling about?” Trace grunts from his desk across the room.

  “None of your fucking business,” I snap back, not interested in letting him screw with my good mood right now.

  I promised to let Tatum break the news of our marriage to her old man, and so far, I had held up my end of the bargain. In saying that, I don’t know how much longer that’s

  going to last if Trace keeps goading me when it comes to his daughter. The man is hell bent on pushing my buttons, like now. The evil grin on his face tells me he’s about to open his mouth and give me shit. Which he does only seconds later, proving my earlier sentiments to be correct. The man is a Grade-A asshole.