The Wild Wolf Pup (Zoe's Rescue Zoo #9)(90)

“The first time we took a ride on my bike?” I offer, raising an eyebrow at her as she fists her hands and glares at me. “Okay, it’s not that.

This shit so wasn’t working. I was fucked. No, I was motherfucking fucked.

“Cut it out, Riggs,” she warns through clenched teeth. “You know exactly what today is. I heard you on the phone just now,” she hollers.

I groan, forgetting all about the phone call I literally just made. Kids, don’t smoke pot, it fucking fries your brain cells. It’s a shame Nancy Regan died, with my handsome face and her catchy slogan we could’ve resurrected the ‘Just Say No’ campaign.

“It’s Jack and Reina’s wedding and we’re here visiting with parents who you can barely tolerate,” she accuses, narrowing her eyes into tiny slits as she pokes her finger into my pecs. “And don’t you dare say you were trying to surprise me.”

“Weddings aren’t really my thing,” I lie, hoping to buy myself some time. Reaching for my temples I rub them, willing my brain cells to return and come up with a way to break it to Kitten we had a possible target on our backs.

“If you don’t give me a fucking explanation, then I am going back to that house, grabbing our son and crashing Jack’s wedding. Don’t fucking dare me, Riggs, Wedding Crashers is my favorite movie. I’ll ace that shit.”

God, she’s fucking sexy when she’s pissed. Did I mention how much I love her taste in movies too? I mean movie night at Casa Kitty is a damn good time, just last week we went on a Rush Hour marathon. Chris Tucker is my hero.

Focus Riggs!

“Wait a minute, where is Eric?”

“I sold him to a bunch of gypsies. Where do you think he is? With your parents!”

“Shit, Kitten, are you off your rocker? We’re going to go back there and he’s going to be wearing an ascot!”

She grabs my shirt with her fists and shakes her head.

“Why are we here, Riggs? The truth.”

“I can’t get into it, Lauren,” I say truthfully. The less she knows the safer she’ll remain, I hoped. “It’s club business but know that I’ve got it under control—Jack and the guys have it under control and us being here is just a precaution.”

Wrong fucking answer.

Releasing my shirt from her hands she takes a step back and her eyes go as wide as saucers.

“Club business?” She screeches.

“Yeah, but like I said I’ve got it under control.”

She stares at me bewildered, traces of hurt and confusion reflect in her baby blues I loved so much. Taking a step closer to her, she shakes her head insisting I don’t advance any closer. I watch as she grabs the neckline of her tank top and inch it down, revealing the offensive scar marking where the bullet entered her body. My eyes fall to the scar, anger boiling in my veins just as it always does whenever I see it.

“I think I deserve more than an elusive answer not only from your club but from you. Look at this scar, go on, Riggs, take a good look,” she demands. “I stare at this scar every day. Every day I am reminded that I was shot, remained in a coma for days, that our son was born premature because of a bullet. I almost died, Riggs, our son could’ve died too and Bones did die. Now, I have never thrown that in your face, not once because I know that you would have died right along with us if that bullet succeeded in what it set out to do. You’re not in a relationship with someone who is ignorant and na?ve to the life you lead; I am Anthony Bianci’s sister. I have lived this shit since before you knew it existed, when you were Robert Montgomery and not Riggs. I know better than to demand inside information on what it is you do and what goes on behind the scenes of your club and I’m not asking. I am asking you to remember that you and I are a team and this is our family. If we are hiding out because something is going on with your club, then I deserve to know we are vulnerable. I deserve to know so there are two of us on high alert, protecting that innocent boy we brought into this world.” Her voice cracks as her lip quivers. With trembling hands, she reaches for mine and lays them over her stomach. “And the brother or sister we’re going to give him.”

My eyes immediately drop to her flat stomach covered with our hands, widening in shock as they lift back to hers. The blues of her eyes fill with tears as she answers the questions reflected in mine by nodding her head.

Still, I ask the question, needing the words.

“You’re pregnant?”

“Yes,” she cries. “I took a test before we left but I didn’t have time to make a doctor’s appointment because you came home and brought us here,” she explains, squeezing my hands tightly. “I can’t have history repeat itself, Riggs—”

I cut off her plea with my lips, gently covering hers with mine. It was an attempt to prove to her I wouldn’t let history repeat itself. The last time she told me she was pregnant I had an anxiety attack, lost my fucking shit at the thought of becoming a father. I didn’t kiss her; I didn’t give her all the words she needed to hear. Starting now, this very moment, I would prove to her everything would be different this time around. I’d be at every goddamn doctor’s appointment and I’d hold her damn hand as she delivered our kid. There was no way in hell history was repeating itself, no way I would let anyone take that from us—not this time, never again.