“I’m surprised this isn’t covered by now,” I mumbled.
“Pretty much the first time we’ve been able to chill. Driving down here took a while,” Lucie replied, tipping her head back against the sofa. “Amaryllis isn’t a good traveler.”
“I get car sick,” she murmured, her head bowing with shame.
I frowned at her. “I did when I was a kid too.”
Her eyes rounded. “You did?”
“Yeah. Fuc—” I cleared my throat. “Nightmare. That’s why I like bikes. You’re in control of it, so it’s better on your system, and the wind in your face stops you from getting sick.”
She blinked at me. “Can I have one?”
My lips twitched. “I mean, when you’re older. Maybe.”
Lucie snorted when Amaryllis mumbled, “Momma had one. It was pretty.”
She whistled. “Was too. Matte black with shiny red flames.”
I cocked a brow. “Flames, huh?”
“It goes with the name, you know?” she retorted piously. “Lucifer.”
Amaryllis stuck her tongue in her cheek as she focused on her doodles. “They’re good,” I told her softly, keeping my voice low so as not to scare her. I mean, I knew she wasn’t a dog or anything but fuck, I scared men who were three times her age.
“T-Thank you,” she stuttered, peering up at me through lashes so thick, with eyes so beautiful, that I knew, ten years down the line, I’d be killing motherfuckers who were lining up to date her.
Those eyes would slay a man.
Jesus.
This being a dad shit was tough.
“You can relax, Flame,” Lucie teased. “She won’t bite.”
That elicited a giggle from Amaryllis. “I don’t bite. That’s Daddy Wolfe’s job.”
My brows rose at that. Far as I knew, Amaryllis was ignoring Wolfe. When I cocked a look at Lucie, she just hitched her good shoulder in a shrug.
“Daddy Wolfe has a lot of important jobs to do. That’s why he can bark sometimes,” I told her, trying to stick up for my brother.
“I don’t like when he barks at Momma,” she retorted stubbornly, her shading suddenly growing a little more erratic with her temper.
I almost laughed at the display, because if Amaryllis had inherited his temper, then fuck, we were in for a fun ride.
She finished coloring, and her mouth pursed in a stubborn moue, then asked, “Why do you got so many tattoos?”
“Why’s your momma?” I countered.
“Hers are pretty. Yours are scary.”
Pretty? I’d seen all of Luce’s tats except for two, none of them were pretty. Still, beauty was subjective, I guessed.
“Mine are scary because I’m scary.”
She giggled. “You’re not scary.”
My lips twitched. Well, hell. Did I agree or disagree with her?
Lucie saved me. “He’s your daddy. He’ll never be scary to you, but to everyone else?” She shot me a look. “Everyone else has to be scared of him. That’s how he’ll keep us safe forever and ever.”
The trust inherent in that statement had my heart surging into my throat.
Fuck.
This woman slayed me.
Every single fucking time.
My grip on the Sharpie tightened to the point of pain, but I ignored it. Just took that moment to stare deeply into her eyes and fall for her all over again.
“Fuck,” I whispered to myself, but Amaryllis heard it and giggled. I cut her a surprised look, but she was back to doodling, back to coloring the cast. When I looked at what I’d drawn, what she was coloring around, I saw what I’d drafted on there. Saw what I’d been messing around creating.
The word: MINE.
❖
Lucie
Stalemate.
At least, that was how things seemed.
Wolfe hadn’t said a word to me in three days, but with Amaryllis, he was downright talkative.
Most of that conversation was one-sided though, because Amaryllis knew how to hold a grudge.
I’d taught her well, I thought with a smirk, watching Wolfe trying not to lose his patience when Amaryllis refused to talk to him, her focus on the TV.
Of course, I wanted them to have a relationship. I wouldn’t have brought her back to the MC if I hadn’t, but Wolfe had to learn that he couldn’t treat her or me like shit. We came as a package, and even though I wasn’t sure how or why, Amaryllis was very protective of me.
If she saw him hurting me, verbally or otherwise, she’d never forgive him.
I hadn’t anticipated her sulking, and although I was amused by it, I knew we’d all have to be careful where she was concerned.
She’d lost her daddy, Daddy Ryan, the one who’d changed her diapers, taught her the piano, and who’d been her book bud. It was no wonder she was