Free Captive by Natasha Thomas Page B

dilemma.
     
    No matter what happens from here on out this baby, the night I spent with his or her father, and the memories of how he or she was conceived will always be a blessing. I wholeheartedly believe in looking at the positives in life in any situation, even mine, and even the one’s I’d prefer not to remember. But I don’t have time to consider the positives because on the other side of my front door is a furious looking biker, clad in leather, menacing in nature, banging repeatedly on the door to the point it looks like the poor thing might disintegrate.
     
    Standing up I try to gather my strength, pull my thoughts together, so that I can tell him to leave, that I don’t want him here. It might sound stupid under the circumstances, especially since this is the one time I should probably invite him in, let him talk to me, but truthfully I want nothing to do with him. I don’t want to hear what he has to say, not after what he said when he left that morning. I couldn’t bear to have him throw what a mistake it was at me again. I can’t listen to him tell me he thinks I’m no better than a common whore, infected with who knows what, not fit to be allowed near his family. What he said, what he spat at me in anger was unforgiveable, and I haven’t, forgiven him that is. Regardless of how much my body still craves him now I know what his feels like beneath my hands, under my tongue, between my legs, I won’t forgive him for being so hateful towards me. Especially when I’ve done nothing to deserve his ire. His anger. His spite.
     
    This is why I asked Boss, Diesel, and Fury to come. Boss and Diesel to help me pack my belongings, and Fury to hold the behemoth of a man, Reaper, at bay while we do it. There is no doubt in my mind that my secret will come out. There’s no way those three will allow me to just leave Blackwater without an explanation, no matter how much they love and care for me. And in the end that’s what I fear most. Not that I will be hurt, because I don’t believe for a second that any one of the four men would ever lay a hand on me, but I fear for Reaper. I fear what they may do to him. I fear how he will react when he finds out why I’m leaving, and what he’ll do to stop me. More than that though, I fear what he won’t do to stop me. Because honestly, I don’t think he’ll do a damn thing. And that will hurt more than anything else in this clusterfuck of a situation I find myself in.
     
    Pausing at the door, hand on the knob, I straighten my pink sweater and slowly open the door. The first thing I’m hit with is the overwhelming scent of musk, and his cologne that invade my nostrils. It is like crack to an addict. The smell of him is so manly, so all-encompassing that I don’t notice he’s moved even closer until his body is almost flush against mine.
     
    Looking up into his eyes I see the war he’s waging. The one that’s telling him to step back, distance himself. I can also see the lust, desire, and something else forbidden. Something he doesn’t want to feel. Something he doesn’t think he can feel, swirling in his deep blue green eyes.
     
    What really makes me come unhinged is the deep rasp of his voice. The sound is so soothing, yet it causes rough prickles of need to shoot down my spine. Low, deep, hoarse, is the only way to describe the cadence of his speech. It’s a voice I’ll hear every time I close my eyes from now until I take my last breath. And it’s the one memory I hope never fades, because it will be like my warm security blanket when things begin getting rocky. When I think hope is lost, and things won’t get better I’ll wrap myself in the heat and comfort of his voice using it to lull myself into the belief I’ll make it out the other side of whatever the problem okay.
     
    Reaper stands over a foot taller than my five foot two, and weighs about a hundred and fifty more pounds than I do, so when he uses his huge hand to push the door open,