Scooting to the side of the bed, I grab an ashtray off the nightstand and waddle to the doorway. There are condiments out of the fridge sitting on the counter, but I still don’t see anyone. Well, if they’re making something to eat they obviously aren’t here to hurt me.
I take a step out, my eyes bouncing all over the room for who might be in here with me. Maybe it’s Jillian again.
“You want one?”
I scream, swinging the ashtray behind me. It thumping as I make contact with the intruder.
“Fucking hell!” A man bends over, grabbing his forehead where I hit him. Gasping, I take a few steps back and drop the ashtray to the floor.
Hissing, he stands up. His blondish colored hair falls in his eyes, intricate tattoos swirl along his arms, and that jaw of his could cut glass.
“You crazy ass bitch!” My eyebrows draw inward at his tone of voice. Our eyes lock for a few seconds before slowly trailing up and down one another. His eyes are the lightest brown I’ve ever seen with a hint of green mixed within. Like a sturdy tree standing in an emerald forest.
He’s taller than me, skin tanned, and holds a softness to his face, but there’s a sharp edge there too. It’s as if Kane and Gatz were mixed into one and made this man.
He glares, pulling his hand away from the bump forming on his forehead.
“Are you insane? My water could have broken sneaking up on me like that!” Instinctively, I place my palm on my belly. “Who are you? What are you doing in here?”
Ignoring my questions, he walks back to the counter where the lettuce and bread were left out.
“My name is Mac, and I’m the fucking babysitter.” His eyes slowly rise to mine, a chiseled smile crossing his smug face as he lifts his chin with more confidence than I can handle looking directly at.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I sass.
“I’m here for that, not you.” He points to my pregnant belly, his silver chain-looking bracelet sliding around his wrist. I shift on my back foot, and sigh. Over the past few months, death has not scared me but losing my child has. For Gatz’s club to be here and help protect a fetus that might not even be their own. That stands for something.
“My name is Simone—”
“I know who you are. The chick that got pregnant by two men, from two different clubs.” The coldness in his voice drips like ice. “Are you a biker hopper?” His tone casual as if we’re discussing a movie we just saw.
“A what?” I snap, not familiar with the terminology.
“You know, like a mattress hopper, only you’re jumping from biker dick to biker dick.” He waves around a mayonnaise covered butter knife.
My jaw drops. “That’s not who I am—”
“Are you a prostitute or something then?” His tone serious. My face burns with anger, and the urge to hit him in the head with the ashtray again flares.
“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”
He smirks, and I can tell I’m in deep shit with this guy.
-BUY Bloodlines by M.N. Forgy-
About M.N. Forgy
M.N. Forgy was raised in Missouri where she still lives with her family. She’s a soccer mom by day and a saucy writer by night. M.N. Forgy started writing at a young age but never took it seriously until years later, as a stay-at-home mom, she opened her laptop and started writing again. As a role model for her children, she felt she couldn’t live with the “what if” anymore and finally took a chance on her character’s story. So, with her glass of wine in hand and a stray Barbie sharing her seat, she continues to create and please her fans.
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