Leon's Way by Sunniva Dee Page A

his girlfriend? And you said ‘no?’”
    “No, to marry him.”
    “Ah, yeah. Makes sense that you turned that down.”
    “Really?” Why am I surprised again?
    She nods sagely. “That was sweet of him, but you’re better off. I mean, if you get married you’re stuck.”

    I’m on my way back from Choice, my other club in the neighbor town of Talco. It’s a couple of hours’ drive, so I have plenty of time to beat myself up over yesterday. I called Arriane. Got her voicemail and left a message, apologizing like I did last night. In reply, she sent me a heart by text.
    Are you okay? I’m sorry , I messaged back.
    I’m fine. Just nauseous.
    Me asking for forgiveness. It’s a fucking vicious cycle I’m in. She’s watched me with women since her first day at Smother, so I get that she chooses not to be my girl. Just—I wish she’d stay the fuck away from me.
    Lately, the monster my father bred in me surges more frequently. I subdue the rage with my proven methods—broken-girl sex and exercise—but Arriane is intervening, and I can’t control the craze with her near.
    Last night. Ah—damn. She quieted my storm, but at the expense of what? No one can see me when I’m like that, and she’s so much more than “no one.”
    Arriane is perfect. Not perfect for me, just fucking perfect in general. It’s never been my thing, and yet here I am, engrossed. She’s beautiful, delicious, addictive, everything I’m never going to claim—not counting my half-assed try with my tame little proposal. Cringe-worthy.
    The future mother of my child.
    This baby is so lucky. He’s safe inside of Arriane, with her. Probably what she thinks too, especially after the Bag Room. Ah, it baffles me that she stayed in my bed until dawn. I’ve never slept better than with the two of them in my arms.
    I’m learning my place in this mess. I’m a master at business, at leadership, professionalism. It’ll be a no-brainer to stump my nerve impulses in order to keep her comfortable and safe while she grows.
    Once he’s born, my baby will be provided for. I’ll bust my ass for them to lack of nothing, in ways my father never considered. Schools, friends, housing. Food, health—anything within my grasp and beyond, I’ll line up for our baby.
    I’m known to pursue my women with everything in me, the ones Christian calls the “broken girls,” those who unconsciously erase my disturbia. With Arriane, though, the fight is in heavyweight class, and she, my opponent, follows a foreign set of rules.
    I reach Smother at dusk. The streetlights flicker on, bleeding yellow blotches into the humid air. Arriane’s working tonight too, and I bet she’s early. Light irritation stirs in me at how she doesn’t obey me on this. I need her to step down on the hours, allow me to increase her salary so she can still cover more than her bills; expecting mothers shouldn’t work their butts off, especially not the one carrying my child.
    Mine.
    Without changing clothes, I head straight to the Bag Room. I’ve got time for a quick round. On a whim, I check for remnants of Arriane and find small, ripped panties at the foot of the gym mat. I swipe them up and roll to the floor on my back.
    I puff through a series of sit-ups—fifty, fifty, fifty—and when I take a breather, I push the lace to my nose. Her smell. It’s faint, but there. And if I’m to remember my place, I need to not do this.
    The music revs downstairs, indicating that Robin’s in the DJ booth, testing new tunes against the acoustics of the main room. Generally, Cameron and Ingela come early to try them out on the dance floor. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I can’t complain; despite the bullshit life throws my way—Dad and the resurfacing of my inner monster included—I’ve got good employees.

The weeks pass quickly. Spring has officially begun, and suddenly I’m four months pregnant. Trees sprout iridescent green offspring on their branches, following my lead. Thank