HUNTER

I've always acknowledged my privilege. In a million ways over my life, people have treated me differently because of my money. I don't really notice it most days.

When the police spoke to me about the parking garage attack, I'd been in my mother's mansion surrounded by her staff and the family lawyers. The detectives had been deferential to me in a way they wouldn't have been with most people.

That is absolutely not how they behave when they speak to me at the farm. The same detective from a day earlier grills me about possible suspects. He keeps bringing up the cartel as if I've angered my drug supplier. Reading the room, I keep my mouth shut except to say, "I don't know." Finally, the club's lawyers shut down the interview.

The remainder of the evening is a blur. After my bags from the SUV are left in Tack's room, I consider going through them. Instead, I follow Tack around and consider his dog. Based on the animal's age and behavior, he didn't recently adopt the golden retriever mix.

As the farm settles into its evening routine, I replay conversations I've had with Tack. Did he ever mention his pet before?

I'm distracted from my questions by the sight of a very pregnant Carys waddling toward me. Her husband, Pork Chop follows behind. His dark hair is shaved off, making his head look as shiny and buff as his bare arms. Walking behind their parents are eight-year-old Hicks and six-year-old Hudson.

"I'm sorry," Carys announces as she arrives on the front porch. "I wanted to get over here sooner, but I was sick."

"She was pooping," Hudson helpfully explains.

"Son," Pork Chop warns his younger boy, "your mom's not in the mood for honesty."

Siobhan's older sister has reached her due date. Right now, she wears every single day of those nine months on her face.

Tack gets up from the porch swing to make room for an exhausted Carys. Before she sits, Hicks drops a donut cushion on the bench. Carys soon settles down next to me.

"I'm so sorry," she says and hugs me.

I don't want to cry again. I'm exhausted and dehydrated. Tears are my enemy at this point, but I can't help myself.

While I cry, Carys guides my head to rest on her baby bump and strokes my head. The boys stare in horror at my drama before realizing their cousins Kiera and Deirdre are nearby. While the kids play and the men talk about pounding on the cops, my heart is soothed by unborn Ripley's regular kicks to my face.

Laughing, I finally sit up and rub the bump. "She's feisty."

Carys wipes her wet eyes and smiles. "I'll be able to hold her soon."

I look at my friend and then Siobhan before whispering, "Is it safe to have me here? I don't want to risk your lives by staying at the farm."

"You should do what Mom says," Carys mumbles as she rubs her stomach and looks uncomfortable. "Dad and my uncles are in the mix. They're smart about violent crap."

Siobhan nods her head but seems worn out since Sync arrived with the girls. Carys reaches across me to pat her sister's head.

"Look, Hunter, I hear you've finally allowed Tack to tap your sweet ass," Carys says, making Siobhan laugh. "If you let that boy love you, you'll never walk away. But being with him isn't all about his fine body. You'll be a club wife. That position comes with an acceptance of how you can't know what's happening behind the scenes."

We look at the men nearby who are clearly talking about the shootout.

"It's not just you who has to remain in the dark," Carys explains. "We all do. Natasha does with Bear. Sometimes, a club guy will marry a chick who thinks she'll be like my mom, but that mentality gets fixed quickly."

Carys leans her head back and rests her eyes. "There are rules on the farm. People need to know their place. And even though you're a rich chick bringing power to the relationship with Tack, here on the farm, you're still one of the wives. That means you let the fellas figure shit out. If what they do isn't working for you, well, then you call your mom and you round up an army and go somewhere else. But until then, just relax and know you're with family."

Siobhan smiles at me. "Carys is wrong about so very many things." Ignoring her sister's disapproving grunt, she continues, "But she's right about how you don't need to worry. Not tonight, anyway. The club told the police you were leaving town. As far as anyone knows, you're on your way out of Banta City. So just relax and heal up. I know you're hurting."

I glance at Tack who is watching me while Pork Chop acts out something maybe related to the shootout or possibly from a movie. Carys's husband tends to be very animated.

"When did Tack get his dog?"

Carys shrugs and adjusts her behind on the cushion. "I don't know. It was back after I had Hudson."

"This could be a solid test," Siobhan tells me. "You're getting dropped into Tack's life. I don't know how long it'll take to find and kill the person doing this shit. But while you're hiding out here, you'll be around Tack's family. You can see what it's like to be a club wife. If you don't like it, why not find out now before you two get in deeper?"

"Do you think we can't work?"

"I often imagine you two as old people fussing over your garden together," she says and offers a soft smile. "But I fantasize about a lot of shit that never happens. Although I did often daydream about Natasha coming back to Banta City and giving Bear a second chance. Since that happened, I might be psychic."

Carys grunts and eases into a standing position. "I need to get inside in front of a fan. The last weeks of pregnancy are like a full-on betrayal by my body. I can't sleep, eat, or shit without feeling miserable."

"I remember that misery," Siobhan says and opens the farmhouse's door for her sister.

"One time and you didn't even go nine months. You're a wuss."

The sisters bitch at each other while I grab Carys's seat cushion and follow them inside. Before I let the screen door shut, I look back at Tack. His gaze meets mine and holds it. I return his smile, but my mind is on the dog sitting at his feet.

Dinner is soon provided by the club wives who bake chicken and make enough mashed potatoes to feed a small army.

Throughout the evening, I follow Siobhan around everywhere. Tack sticks close, but he rarely speaks. He's never been a chatty man around me. Is that why he hid his dog?

As darkness swallows up the farm, Siobhan heads to the main farmhouse, where she bunks with her girls while Sync sleeps on the floor. In the secondary farmhouse, I retire to Tack's room. Sleep follows us and gets comfortable in his corner bed.

"Why didn't you tell me about your dog?" I ask when Tack lingers at the doorway.

"I don't know."

Rather than let the subject drop, I tear up and point out, "We just talked about me buying a house so I could get pets. When I mentioned wanting a dog, you didn't say anything."

Tack just stares at me like a kid waiting for their teacher to stop bitching so he can go back to recess.

Maybe I ought to back down. I'm exhausted, and Tack is dragging. For most of the day, people have behaved as if the shootout was just this weird one-off thing that happened. The club might be accustomed to violence, but I'm not, and I need to rest. My mouth won't be silenced, though.

"What else are you hiding?"

Tack exhales and fights an eye roll. I've noticed how when anyone calls him out, he tends to shut down and ice them out. That's exactly how he behaved when I told him no years ago after I learned he was balls deep in the dangerous life he pretended to barely know. Tack acted as if I'd wronged him, and he didn't need my judgment. Of course, he quickly switched gears and started hanging out with me again.

"I'm sinking here," I tell him when his expression hardens. "I can't go home to my condo. I can't return to the estate. I watched a man I've known for years get torn apart. I worry I'm putting a target on everyone at the farm. I want more than anything to trust you. Except you're hiding important facts about your life. Now, you're acting like I'm a bitch for mentioning how you've kept secrets. Maybe I ought to take a car and drive myself to an airport in the next city. I could disappear for a while. Being here might be a mistake."

"So, if I can't be exactly what you want, you'll leave me?"

"This is your dog!" I cry in my raspy voice. "How could you not mention him just last night when we were talking about pets?"

Tack shuts down right before my eyes. He simply closes off his heart, leaving me alone in the world.

"I get it, Tack. Your coldness is how you survived bad parents. I'm not bothered by how you respond to being put on the spot. What does bother me is how you've chosen to hide shit day after day with me. Why would you even do that?"

Tack doesn't respond. He just stands near the door, staring at me like I'm both what he wants and the person most likely to destroy him.

Walking to him, I refuse to hide or suffer in silence. Tack is strong enough to face his own trauma and bad habits. He just chooses not to push himself.

"If you can't talk to me right now, when I need you, then I'm sleeping on the couch. That's how relationships work. There's give and take. You can't just turn yourself off until I shut up."

"You're you," Tack spits out. "And I love most of you, but the rich girl part of you is scary. When I see how you live, I feel judged, so I hide things."

"And you didn't think I'd approve of your dog?" I ask and look at the mutt staring at us as if we're a boring TV show he can't turn off.

Tack doesn't answer. Won't answer, actually. Nothing is keeping him from explaining something as simple as his dog.

I collapse on the mattress and hide my face against my bare knees. An image flashes in my mind of Suzanne wearing a blonde wig. I see us traveling incognito, staying one step ahead of the enemy.

Whenever Tack focuses his affection on me, I'm certain I belong nowhere else in the world. But when he goes cold like right now, he tears away my armor and leaves me alone.

Squatting next to the mattress, Tack rubs the back of my neck. "This is how I'm wired, Hunter."

I peek at him and frown. "That's a copout. Don't you think I'm pushing myself with you? If embracing your life with the club was easy, I would have done that shit years ago."

"What's so hard about it?"

"There are rules with your people that don't exist in my world. Just like how you act differently at the estate than you do at the farm."

Tack exhales hard, really wanting to stay in his head rather than engage. Except he also wants to cuddle up with me.

I can often sense when he craves my touch. Now he has access to my heart and body, but they aren't offered for free. He needs to connect beyond the sex.

"Sleepy is just a dog," Tack mutters, struggling to form words. "There's nothing special about him."

"He's yours, and I love you. That makes him special."

Tack looks at me like I'm the bad guy. "I know what kind of pets you grew up with."

"Yes, my mom has a thing for orange Persians. But I just want an animal to love."

"Well, Sleepy is my dog," Tack says and steps back like he needs space if he's supposed to open up to me. "He licked my hand first out of all the puppies in the kennel. That's why I chose him. No bigger thought went into it. I didn't even name him. Noble named his two puppies after the Seven Dwarfs. Since my puppy yawned a lot, I named him Sleepy."

Studying Tack's familiar blue eyes, I fight the urge to run away. My life isn't normally this complicated.

"I'm tired," I whimper and feel myself spiraling.

Tack yanks off his shirt and drops his jeans. He climbs into bed and tosses back the covers.

"We'll chill out. I need to watch TV before I sleep. Is that going to bother you?"

I stare at him stretched out on his bed. My gaze flashes to his dog sleeping in the corner.

"What do you watch?" I ask and crawl closer.

"Adult Swim. Just dumb comedy stuff."

Nodding, I rest my head on the second pillow and take his hand. "You should have told me about Sleepy. I often pictured you here on the farm. I would have liked knowing the dog was with you."

Tack studies me and nods. "I don't feel like the real me is worthy of the real you. That's why I edit out the crap I think you won't like and add fake shit you might approve of."

Barely able to keep my eyes open as my latest pain pill kicks in, I mumble, "What else did you edit out or fake?"

"I don't like my uncle's house. I just figured you'd like it since the style is classy."

"But I want a kooky unique house."

"The fun part of you does. The rich girl part wants a house that won't embarrass her."

"No," I say and force my eyes open. I reach for his face and smile. "I'm too rich to get embarrassed like that. My family has enough money for me to live any way I want."

"Is that right?"

"I can live where I want, love who I want, and own any dog I want. No one can tell me otherwise," I say and close my eyes. "Not even my mom."

Tack leans down and kisses my forehead. As I doze, he cuddles against me. I feel him chuckle occasionally at his shows. At some point, Tack falls asleep with the TV still playing. I open my eyes to find him on his back, eyes closed, looking gorgeous. In the corner, Sleepy changes positions before returning to sleep.

As I put the worst day of my life behind me, I imagine a home where Sleepy claims a new corner, and Tack can be himself.