Violet
“I'm fine.”
“You're f*****g panting.”
“I walked from the bathroom.”
“Exactly.”
I glared at my husband.
Doom stood at the end of our bed with his arms crossed.
At thirty-one weeks pregnant with triplets, getting out of bed had become an Olympic event.
Rolling over required momentum.
Putting on pants required assistance.
Walking to the bathroom left me winded.
And apparently my husband had appointed himself president of the Violet Needs To Sit Her Ass Down Committee.
Valerie was vice president.
Jack was treasurer.
The entire Devil's Guardians MC had somehow become members.
“I need to move sometimes.”
“Move your ass back to bed.”
“Doom.”
“Woman.”
I pointed toward the door.
“I have a doctor's appointment.”
His expression changed.
“Yeah. And I'm taking your ass.”
“
