His hand flies up to cradle his cheek, which is already reddening beneath his palm.
“That’s for touching her,” I growl the word between clenched teeth.
Then I slam my fist into his jaw. His head snaps to the side, blood spraying out of his mouth.
Weak ass bastard whimpers, crying and pleading with me.
I ignore every sound out of his fucking mouth before I drive my fist into his gut.
He folds in half, gasping and choking before he falls to his knees. He wheezes like I stole all the air from his lungs.
“And that is for putting your hands on my pregnant wife’s stomach.”
I crouch down in front of him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. I’ve killed a lot of men over the years, seen many reactions to fear, but his gives me the most satisfaction.
He looks two seconds from pissing his pants.
“Please.”
I sneer at him. “Did she beg you too? Plead with you not to harm her, plead for our unborn baby?” I back hand him across the mouth, blood spraying as he crumbles onto the floor.
He lies still, his knees drawn up to his chest as he whimpers pathetically.
“You thought you could touch what was mine and walk away?” I hiss. “Nah. You don’t get to walk from this. I’m going to bury you so deep they’ll never find your bones.”
He’s crying now, as if he thinks that’s going to save his ass. It won’t. When I stand, he grabs the leg of my jeans, sliding up onto his knees. “Please. Don’t kill me. I’m sorry for what I did. Just don’t kill me.”
I kick my boot to his chest and shove him back. He doesn’t get up this time. “You ever breathe near her again and I swear I will break every bone in your fuckin’ body.”
Drawing my foot back, I slam it into his side, over and over until he stops moving. Then I spit on him. “Enjoy pissing blood for the next two weeks, you piece of fuckin’ shit.”
Then I walk out without another word, leaving him curled in a pile on his floor.
FIFTEEN
LEXI
The weeksafter I quit my job are healing. I spend time at the clubhouse, recovering from what happened, learning to feel human again.
Tasha tells me that James left the company the day after he attacked me, and when he came in to get his stuff, his face was all fucked up. I didn’t tell her that was courtesy of my husband.
My belly grows heavier. My hips ache, my back throbs, and I can barely breathe with her under my ribs, but I’m happier than I’ve ever been.
Casey takes care of me in every way. The last few weeks, he’s spent every available moment decorating the nursery and making a home for our daughter. She won’t sleep in here for a while, but I like knowing it’s ready.
By thirty-three weeks, I’m ready to drop this kid. I’ve never been so uncomfortable in my entire life.
My bump is heavy, and my daughter feels like she’s constantly bouncing on my bladder, but Casey can’t keep his hands off me.
Every night before we go to sleep, he kisses my stretch marks while he talks to our daughter.
He’s going to be the most amazing father. He already is. The way he takes care of me makes all the darkness James left on my soul feel lighter.
Now, I’m thirty-eight weeks and two days, more belly than person and so ready to meet my kid.
Which is why I’m in the nursery, folding onesies, and trying not freak out about how big they are.
How the fuck am I supposed to push something that size out of my body?
