Unbeautifully (Undeniable, #2)(17)

Because, he thought, glaring at Eva, someone’s got Deuce’s balls wrapped around her finger.

“Because.” Eva sighed. “No one else is home, so why should she be home?”

“You could be home,” he muttered. “Should be home.”

Not hanging around an MC all the time; not giving teenage girls rooms at MCs, forcing him to watch them lying around in bikinis, leaving him vulnerable to accidently f*cking them. Again.

Tap shot him a dirty look. “Way to be an *, brother,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Eva said quietly. “But let’s get one thing clear, okay, Ripper?”

“What’s that, babe?” he sneered.

“I didn’t know,” she said evenly. “If I would have known what he’d done to you, I would have—”

“You would have what?” he yelled, jumping up and knocking his chair backward. “You would have f*ckin’ what, bitch? Sang him a motherf*ckin’ lullaby? Told him everything was gonna be A-f*cking-OK? You had no f*ckin’ sense when it came to that man! You wouldn’t have done jack f*ckin’ shit!”

Ivy burst into tears and Bucket was suddenly up in his face, pushing him backward. “Take a f*ckin’ walk,” he hissed. “And cool the f*ck off before Prez rips that f*ckin’ patch off you for talkin’ to his old lady like that.”

“She wouldn’t have done shit!” he repeated, leaning around Bucket and pointing at Eva. “I saw you with him, Eva! Him givin’ you bullshit, tellin’ you he can’t f*ckin’ sleep without you, him justifyin’ why he put A FUCKIN’ HIT ON YOU, and you cryin’ like a baby, tellin’ him everything’s gonna be fine!”

“Get the f*ck outta here!” Bucket yelled, shoving him backward.

Eva appeared beside Bucket. “I’m sorry Frankie took your f*cking eye,” she hissed. “He also took twenty-two years of my life from me! If anyone understands what it feels like to lose something at the hands of Frankie, it’s me!”

“Fuck you,” he bit out angrily. “You coulda walked away, coulda called Prez, coulda said somethin’ to your old man. You had a motherf*ckin’ choice! I didn’t have that luxury, Eva, I couldn’t walk away! I couldn’t f*ckin’ leave!”

“Neither could I,” she whispered.

He stared down at her, trying to figure out what the f*ck she meant by that.

“Heads up,” Bucket muttered, moving aside as Deuce stepped out onto the back patio, eying them warily.

“What the f*ck is goin’ on?” Deuce growled.

“Nothing,” Eva said evenly, her eyes still on him. “Ripper and I were just having a small argument over which one of Danny’s friends looked better in their bikini.”

Deuce’s eyes shot to the lawn and went saucer-wide, his nostrils flaring. “Danielle Elizabeth f*ckin’ West!” he roared and pushed past them, headed for his daughter. “What the f*ck are you not wearin’?”

Eva gave him a small, sad smile. “Two birds, one stone,” she said softly and turned away. After retrieving Ivy from Tap, she disappeared inside the clubhouse.

“Dude,” Tap said, getting to his feet. “You are a first class *.”

“Second that,” Bucket said, glaring at him. “Foxy doesn’t deserve your hate, brother. Frankie does.”

Ignoring them, feeling like an *, a justified *, Ripper stormed across the patio and into the club. He should have never opened his mouth. He’d gone this long keeping his true feelings about Eva to himself, but his nerves were shot from this shit with Danny. He felt strung out half the time and the other half…

He wanted her. She was too damn beautiful. And he’d owned that shit. There wasn’t a part of that body he hadn’t touched, hadn’t had his mouth on.

He wanted more.

Ah, f*ck, what was he doing?

He was supposed to be flushing her out, not fantasizing about her. Fantasizing about her was only going to lead to f*cking her again, and f*cking her again would lead to f*cking her again and again and again.

Fuck, he wished she would go away. Go home, go hang out somewhere else, go live with her mom, go to college in France.

Ripper had his key in his door when the sound of giggling brought him up short. Turning his head, he found Danny with her two friends, and Deuce herding the three of them down the hall. Her friends were staring at him, the blonde giggling, the mulatto scowling, and Danny was bright f*cking red, looking anywhere but at him.

Fuck. She’d told them. She’d f*cking opened her big fat mouth and told her dumbass friends.

He was so busy staring at her he didn’t even notice that Deuce had stopped beside him until he was being smacked across the back of his head.

“What the f*ck you lookin’ at?” Deuce demanded and smacked him again.

“Nothin’,” he muttered. Turning his key, he pushed open his door and shut it quickly behind him. Sliding down the door, he hit the floor and buried his face in his hands. What the f*ck was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?

He hadn’t given a f*ck about anything in so long he’d forgotten what it felt like. Forgotten how horrible it was to feel anything at all.

The last time he’d given a f*ck was…