Unbeautifully (32 page)

“Babe,” he said softly. “Yeah.”

On my porch, juggling two bags of groceries, my purse, my extraordinarily large belly, and my keys, I tried valiantly to find the one key that would let me inside, allowing me to put down these insanely heavy bags, put on my pajamas, and go straight to bed. I frowned at the bags. What was so heavy anyway? Bread? Milk?

Whatever. Everything was heavy lately and I was always tired.

As are most women in the ninth month of pregnancy.

Although, I was rather lucky. Instead of gaining tens of pounds of weight over the past nine months, all I’d gained was a giant belly, while the majority of my body stayed mostly the same.

The pregnancy had been a planned one. After my kidnapping, Ripper refused to take our relationship at any other speed other than lightning fast.

We were married within a month, a ridiculously small ceremony at the town courthouse, and that night he’d begun trying to get me pregnant. Married at twenty-one and pregnant by twenty-two. It was official. I was a stereotypical small town girl.

But I was Ripper’s old lady.

And I loved every second of it.

“Shit!”

Shifting the bags in my arms, I tried to see where my keys had dropped, but all I could see was my belly.

Crying out in frustration, I turned around, ready to heave everything in my arms off the porch, and ran straight into the large, hard wall that was Ripper.

“Yo,” he said, laughing as he took the bags from me and set them down on the porch. Scooping up my keys, he stood back up and handed them to me.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, I glared at him. “Why’s the door locked? Where were you?”

“Chill, baby,” he said, reaching out to brush a sweaty lock of hair off my forehead. “I was out back in the shed.”

“Doing what?” I demanded, although I already knew. He was covered in sweat, grass, and wood chips.

“The usual,” he said nonchalantly. “Fuckin’ whores and killin’ puppies.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned away from him, and this time successfully managed to unlock the door. Ripper grabbed the groceries and followed me inside.

Throwing my purse on the kitchen table, I dropped into the closest chair and groaned.

“I hurt,” I complained dramatically. “Everywhere. And I’m dying of thirst.”

Ripper grinned. “I’m on it, baby.”

After setting the bags down on the counter, he headed for the sink, shirtless, sweaty, and dirty, and I couldn’t help but smile. He’d changed so much that sometimes I didn’t even recognize him. At first I’d thought he was overdoing it because he was terrified of my father, but the more time that passed, I realized that, no, it had nothing to do with my father at all. He’d changed.

And I loved him that much more for it.

“You stop by the club?” he asked, setting a glass of ice water down in front of me, then folding his large body into the chair beside me.

Grabbing the glass, I chugged as much water as I could, gasping for air when I was done.

“Yeah,” I breathed.

“You see Jase?”

I nodded. Everyone was worried about Jase. Almost a year had passed since Dorothy had been shot and her memory still hadn’t returned. Jase’s kids had come home, Chrissy had been tried and convicted of first degree murder and sentenced to life with the possibility of parole, meaning she could end up only serving ten years of a life sentence. I was unsure how I felt about this. As much as I’d liked Chrissy, she’d tried to kill Dorothy.

As for Dorothy’s relationship with Jase, it was non-existent. She didn’t come to the club anymore and refused to see anyone other than Eva, Kami, or me. Every few months Tegen came home to visit with her and her brother, an adorable little boy Dorothy had named after her own father, Christopher Michael Kelley.

And Hawk…

He’d taken Ripper’s place. Still nomad, he’d gone back on the road and would return periodically, but never stayed more than a few days at a time. I knew he saw his son on occasion, but just like Jase, Dorothy wanted nothing to do with him.

And ZZ…he never came back. I got the feeling my father had spoken to him a few times, may even know where he was, but I didn’t ask. ZZ had left because of me and I knew I had no right to any information about him or his whereabouts. But wherever he was, I hoped he was happy.

He deserved to be happy.

“He’s…okay,” I said. “He was drunk, as usual.”

Ripper grimaced. “Brother’s gonna drink himself to death.”

“You didn’t,” I said softly.

He looked into my eyes. “No,” he said, just as softly. “I didn’t.”

“I hate you,” I murmured, smiling at him. “You made me fat.”

He snorted. “Hardly. Not sure how you managed it, but I think that baby of mine has made your ass fuckin’ hotter. And speaking of ass…”

Standing up, Ripper bent over me and slipped one arm around my back and under my armpit. The other he slid under my knees and then he was lifting me up.

“I don’t wanna,” I whined, looping my arms around his neck. “I’m too tired.”

“No, you’re not,” he growled, nipping at my neck. “How many times I gotta tell you, you don’t get to make that decision?”

“Oooh,” I teased. “Because you’re the big bad biker man who gets to make all the decisions.”

“Damn straight.”

He laid me gently on the bed and proceeded to peel my yoga pants over my hips and down my legs.

“No underwear,” he muttered. “Why the fuck ain’t you wearin’ underwear?”

“Um, hello,” I said. “People are already staring at the giant baby growing inside of me. I don’t need the added embarrassment of underwear lines too.”

Ripper blinked. “Are you fuckin’ serious? You’re worried about underwear lines?”

I didn’t answer him and he started laughing.

“Fuck, baby,” he said, unzipping his jeans. “You are damn crazy.”

I tried to think of something mean to say, a witty comeback, but he’d quickly moved onto the bed and was now between my legs and pushing inside of me.

Clear thinking was no longer an option.

“Tits,” he groaned, reaching for the hem of my bright pink tank top. “I wanna see your tits, baby.”

“No,” I breathed, pushing his hand away. “Don’t look at my belly.”

He stopped moving. “Why the fuck not?”

“Stretch marks,” I said, wrinkling up my nose.

He stared at me. “Stretch marks,” he repeated. “This shit again?”

“I hate them,” I whispered, feeling embarrassed. “They’re ugly.

“Uh-uh,” he said, slapping my hands away. It took him a few minutes, but eventually he’d maneuvered me out of both my tank top and bra. Immediately crossing my arms over my chest, I looked away from him. Maybe it was ridiculous, but the several jagged red marks that had appeared on my stomach were ugly to me. And I didn’t want Ripper to find me lacking in any way.

Grabbing my chin, he forced me to look at him.

“All scars tell a story, beautiful girl,” he said, releasing me to trace the marks on my stomach. “Yours are tellin’ me how healthy and fuckin’ perfect my kid is gonna be.”

A tear slid out of the corner of my eye. “Shut up,” I whispered.

“And mine,” he said softly, grabbing my hand, trailing my palm across his cheek and then his chest. “Tell the story of how I found you.”

More tears fell. He would never stop ceasing to amaze me.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“Yeah, baby,” he breathed, pulling out of me, then pushing back in again. “Me too.”

He began moving faster and I closed my eyes, forgetting about stretch marks, forgetting about everything, and just let sensation rule.

I could feel everything…the prickly hair on his legs rasping against my smooth skin…the muscles in his back tensing, bunching, and releasing with every thrust of his hips…his hot breath on my breasts, dampening my skin…the scarred flesh on his chest rubbing over my swollen stomach, heightening my sensitivity.

“Ah, fuck baby,” he rasped. “So fuckin’ good.”

“Ripper,” I whimpered.

He slammed into me and my eyes rolled back.

“I love you,” I breathed, clutching at the sheets. “I love you.”

And I felt him, hard and full inside of me, stroking, moving, filling, as his hips continuously met mine, heartbeat after heartbeat, after heartbeat.

THE END

Grabbing my wrist, he begged me not to go. With the blood pulsing through my veins, my rage quickly boiled. Turning to face him, I shoved the palm of my hands against his chest. I was surprised by my own strength. Although he was bigger than I was, I was able to force him to stumble back a few steps, and he landed on the wooden desk. He managed to balance himself, but he didn’t move. His sorrowful eyes were staring into mine, pleading. Those eyes that I once fell for, that I trusted, that allowed me to fall under his spell—those eyes now only filled my stomach with such vile disgust.

Collecting my thoughts was impossible. My mind was racing a thousand miles per hour. I’d never felt so much pain in my life. I gave him one last look, but he did and said nothing. His eyes were saddened, but I didn’t care. I wanted to get away! I turned away from him and ran as fast as I could. I could hear him yelling my name.

Snatching my purse from the table without looking back, I struggled to unlock the front door. I managed to open it with a shaky hand, tripping down the first few steps, realizing at that moment my feet were bare. Carelessly, I ran down the driveway and reached my car. I shoved my hand into my bag to collect my keys, but I couldn’t find them. Shit! He was by the door. Rushing in the process, I was able to locate them and jump into the driver’s seat.

Looking up, I found him on the bottom step, yelling, begging me to stop. My heart was pulsing at such a rapid speed I felt nauseated and lightheaded. After turning on the ignition, I raced out of the driveway and onto the street. The speedometer reached ninety-five miles per hour. My hands were sweating, and my heart was pounding so loudly I could barely hear myself breathe.

After twenty minutes, I was far enough to pull over by the curb, checking my rearview mirror; he was nowhere in sight. I made sure the doors were locked. Then burying my face into my hands, I screamed and burst into sobs, allowing all the rage and betrayal to pour out. How could I have believed and trusted him? How could I have been so stupid; this whole time he was warning me, but I was blind and didn’t care … I wanted the good and bad … all of him.

Knowing at that moment what he truly was, I realized that everything was just lies. Aarrgh! I looked down, trying to catch my breath. Through blurry, watery vision I caught sight of my cream silk nightgown spotted in bright red blood.

My thoughts were uncontrollable. I was trying to make it all go away, and I pounded my fists against my temples, but all that managed to do was inflict additional pain. Why me? My chest felt tight, and it was so hard to breathe I was hyperventilating. After a few minutes of taking long deep breaths, I was able to control the airflow through my lungs. Then it all came back to me: the day I met HIM.

The month of April was so beautiful this year: clear skies, bright green grass, and a cool breeze perfect enough to wear a light jacket. It was my last day of class before my summer break began, and for some unexplained reason, Professor Johnson required the entire class to attend the last day, even after we’d submitted our final exam and paper. He was blabbing about what we learned in the entire semester of our Contract Law class. I knew I earned my 4.0 GPA, so I ignored his unnecessary lecture.

Staring out the window, I continued to admire Harvard’s landscaping as the students and faculty scattered around. This had been a tough year, and I was just happy to be taking a break. The last few months had been nothing but an emotional roller coaster. Finally I was at a point where I could wake up without crying, go to school without zoning out, and enter a public place without the aching memories.

My thoughts were interrupted when I heard a round of applause. I joined in as I knew the class was finally over. The students began to pack their bags. I quickly placed my laptop and textbook into my backpack and headed for the door. Professor Johnson was standing by the entryway saying farewell to everyone.

I knew it would be difficult to walk by him without being pulled in for an intellectual conversation. So I attempted to hide my face by lowering my red cap. There were a few students in front of me, and I tried to blend in and sneak out, avoiding eye contact. I was almost out the door when Mr. Johnson shouted my name twice. A few students turned around, flashing sympathetic smiles. I couldn’t say I didn’t hear him. Slowly I turned on the balls of my feet and flashed a full-toothed grin. In return, I was faced with the stupid, goofy smile I was beginning to dislike. Ugh!

When I reached his side, he lifted his finger, indicating for me to wait a minute. Great! He pulled me aside and had the audacity to keep me waiting. After he gave a few more farewells, we were left alone in the huge classroom. Facing me with another big smile, he began to walk towards his desk.

I followed, dragging my feet, all while forming a handgun with my finger and thumb and aiming it at my head. Then I pulled the trigger. Okay, so that may seem a little childish for a twenty-four year old, but I didn’t want to be bothered that day.

He took a seat behind his desk and handed me a sheet of paper. Raising an eyebrow at his amused grin, I looked down at the document. I was dumbstruck when I saw the letterhead. It was from The Law Office of Marcus DeLuca! I continued to read the letter when I realized it was addressed to me.

Dear Ms. Sullivan:

Thank you for applying to our summer externship. As you are aware, our firm chooses four law students each summer from Harvard Law. Each student will be placed in one of our four legal departments.

After reviewing your resume and references, we would like to invite you to interview for an opportunity to be a part of the externship program.