Page 37 of Vandal Unbound

And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit, even to myself, that watching Vandal, with his large, tattooed hands, being gentle with my daughter causes my ovaries to explode.

“You okay with Maren and Havoc, Els?” Vandal asks. “I need to go talk with your mom.”

Elsie sighs like it’s a massive imposition.

“We can take a walk down the dock,” Maren says.

Havoc looks my way. “I’ll keep an eye on her, I promise.”

“Okay,” she says finally. “But come back soon.”

“We should probably be going,” I say, but even I can hear how non-committal I am.

“Just come with me for a second. You’ll be able to see Elsie from where we’re going. And no one is gonna touch Elsie, I promise. Maren is the president’s old lady, and Havoc is the club’s sergeant at arms, and if you know anything about motorcycle clubs from what you’ve watched on TV, no one is going to mess with either of them without the most dire consequences happening to them. Elsie is safe—I’d bet my life on it.”

It’s my turn to huff. “If I know anything fromSons of Anarchy, women and kids are collateral. The two lead women—one a protagonist, the other an antagonist—both ended up dead at the end.”

Vandal touches my cheek just for a moment. “Another thing that show got wrong. Just come with me, Daze.”

I know I’m throwing caution to the wind, but I stand anyway. And this time when he reaches for my hand, I let him take it. Icast another glance toward Elsie first. She’s chatting animatedly, and from the way Maren shifts her hair to show her something, I’m pretty sure Elsie is telling Maren all about how I won’t let her get her ears pierced until she’s older.

“Fine.”

He leads me back into the clubhouse and down the corridor, before unlocking the third door from the exit. When we step inside, it’s a mess. There are bottles of alcohol by an overflowing garbage container. Pill bottles sit haphazard, lids off, knocked over on a small desk beneath the window that has a view out over the water. The navy bedding is unmade, and there’s a stale scent in the air.

I’m grateful when he opens the window to let some fresh air in, and I can hear Elsie’s laughter.

Vandal doesn’t apologize for the mess. Instead, he straightens the unmade bed and offers me his hand to lead me to sit on the edge of it. Then he pulls out the chair from beneath the desk and sits opposite me, close enough to reach for my hands and hold them tightly.

I’ve never been more torn.

Stay or go.

Because this room is proof of who Vandal is right now. It’s like the universe has put a brilliant, beaming spotlight right here to remind me what I’m getting involved in.

This isn’t some dangerous biker fantasy inspired by a TV show. It’s Vandal’s reality.

And you don’t need a fixer-upper.

Vandal closes his eyes for a second, perhaps to block out the reality. But when he opens them, he studies me carefully. “I haven’t let anyone in here since the accident until today. First Havoc, now you. But this is who I am right now. And it’s a tough thing to admit.”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees. His fingers stay wrapped around mine. “Guess I probably should have brought in one of the cleaning girls before you, huh?”

I look around the room again. “I think the tidiness is only part of the problem.”

He shuffles his feet awkwardly beneath him and knocks over a pile of pill bottles next to the bed. At some point in time, I might look back and think this was the moment I should have left. But I feel for this man.

Outside, Elsie and Maren laugh at something, and Vandal looks in their direction. “Elsie’s easy to like.”

“For some reason, she feels safe around you. And that’s probably a bigger deal than you realize.”

His thumb brushes over my knuckles. “No idea why. I’m not sure I’m that good with kids.”

“The evidence would suggest otherwise,” I say. “I don’t know a single other person who got a gold star from Elsie, including me, and I gave birth to that girl.”

The corner of Vandal’s lips twitches in a smile, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. There’s too much exhaustion and pain in them. “You should stop looking at me like that,” he says roughly.

“Sorry,” I say, looking over to the window.