Reaper's Legacy(159)

By: Joanna Wylde

Stupid man was positive I’d kill myself.

Problem was, deep down inside, Ruger was sexist as shit. Actually, it wasn’t that deep—he’d always been pretty up front about it. But when he’d decided it was time for Noah to start learning on a little dirt bike, I’d had enough.

It was okay for my twelve-year-old son to ride, but not me?


So earlier that week I’d announced I was buying a bike, and that he could either help me pick one out or live with what I got on my own. That lit a fire under his ass, and earlier today a friend of his delivered my pretty little Harley. Ruger didn’t like it, but at least he knew it was a decent bike in good condition.

Still, I paid for it with my own money. I wanted it to be my bike. Not that we really had “mine” or “his” after we got married, but he insisted that I keep part of my paycheck in a separate account. I’d never said anything about it, but somehow Ruger knew—instinctively—that I needed to feel like I could take care of myself.

Having my own money helped with that.

I planned to use most of it for school for the kids, but every once in a while I treated us to something special. I’d taken him to Hawaii for our second anniversary, which had been a good investment, because I’d come home with Faith as a souvenir. I’d wondered if having a baby in the house would distance Ruger and Noah, but if anything they’d gotten closer. Every day Noah turned into more of a young man, and Ruger was a big part of that.

After a few minutes, I reached the end of the road and considered whether or not to turn back. I hadn’t really put the bike through her paces—and she was definitely a she, I felt like we were sisters already—but I knew this was killing Ruger.

I smiled, feeling just a little evil.

Part of me wanted to just take off, feel the freedom and let him dangle for a while. It’d piss him off, but seriously … angry sex with my man was pretty damned good. I toyed with the idea, but turned the bike around and headed back toward the house instead.

Baby steps.

No need to scare him too much in one day, after all.

Best to save something for tomorrow, just in case he got out of line.


Special thanks to Kristin Hannah, an amazing author who took time out of her own busy life to change mine. You’ll never know how much it meant to me, Kristin. Thanks also to Amy Tannenbaum, Cindy Hwang, and Uncle Ray for making this possible.

I also want to thank my online community—you are truly amazing people. Love and appreciation to Maryse (SQUEEE!), Jenny, Gitte, Angie, Lisa, Paige, Sali, Sparky, Cara, Hang, the Triple M, and the ladies of Kristin Ashley Anonymous. Special thanks to Backyard for all her support.

My writing friends are fabulous, too—I love you, Raelene Gorlinsky, Cara Carnes, Katy Evans, Renee Carlino, Kim Jones, Kim Karr, Mia Asher, and my evil sister, Kylie Scott. (Watch your back. Those koalas can’t protect you forever.)

Last but not least, thanks to my husband for not killing me during the writing of this book. No jury would have convicted you.

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