This Ain't Love: MC Romance (BDMC: Second Generation Book 1)

by A. M. Myers

  “Bitch,” the guy bites out and I bite back a laugh. I’ve recently been on the receiving end of Izzy’s sharp tongue so I feel for the guy but at the same time, it’s damn funny.

  “Oh, and let’s be clear about one more thing, baby, it would be forty-five seconds so horrendous for her that for just a brief second, she would wonder if she’s actually been into women this whole time and didn’t know it. The experience of fucking you would almost make her start playing for the other team and drive sales up at sex stores in the area at least twenty percent because that poor girl is swearing off men for a while after having your disappointing dick inside of her.”

  “Listen up, you c…”

  “And we’ve got time for one more caller,” Izzy’s co-host says, cutting off the idiot and I shake my head as I turn the radio down and look out over the parking lot as the show plays in the background. Grabbing the tracker out of the passenger seat, I turn it over in my hand as I glance up at the security guard, open the car door, and get out. I parked on the side of the building to stay out of sight and I’ve just been sitting here, watching, for the past three hours. It’s a good thing I did, too, since Izzy showed up in a truck I’ve never seen before with a new bodyguard in tow and this entire night would have been a waste of time.

  As I creep along the side of the building, the memory of Izzy berating me out on the sidewalk comes back to me and I clench my jaw. My vision tunnels and there is a pounding in my ears as her words ring in my head. I slam my fist into the side of the brick building and the stone bites into my skin, calming me slightly as I near the end of the building and peek around the corner. The security guard stands in front of the door, his arms crossed as he scans the property, and I stay in the shadows, waiting for my time to strike. Since I’ve been here, the guard has taken a smoke break every thirty minutes and he’s due for another one any second now, giving me the perfect opportunity to sneak across the lot and stick the tracker to the truck Izzy showed up in. Gio and I found her house pretty easily Friday night but she wasn’t there and she hasn’t been back since so we need to figure out where the hell she is staying so we can shut her up for good.

  The thought drags a humorless laugh out of me and I shake my head. Growing up, it was me, Mama, and my four brothers and sisters all crammed into a two-bedroom apartment in one of the most rundown buildings in the area. To say we were poor would be an understatement. When I was twelve, I started hustling - not because I wanted to but because I needed to - in order to survive but I learned to love the rush and the element of danger involved. Eventually, hustling led to doing other things, things that were less fun but just as important to keep breathing. I don’t relish beating someone to a pulp when they don’t pay or killing someone to send a message but getting rid of Izzy will be a pleasure for me. No one speaks to me the way she did and it’s a lesson she’s going to have to learn the hard way.

  “Come on, motherfucker,” I hiss, peeking out from behind the corner of the building. The security guard checks his watch and scans the parking lot in front of him again before ducking around the other side of the building for one of his unsanctioned smoke breaks.

  Perfect timing.

  I smile as I slip out from the side of the building and race across the parking lot as quietly as I can with the tracker in my hand. Peeking at my own watch, I whisper a curse and pick up the pace. Izzy’s show is ending just about now so I need to get this thing in place and get back to my car before anyone sees me. When I get to the truck, I crouch down near the front tire and reach inside the wheel well, sticking the tracker where it won’t be detected before I stand up and race back to the other side of the building. Once I’m safely hidden, I peek around the corner again. The security guard steps back into place in front of the door, hooking his thumbs into his belt and squaring his shoulders like he’s been the perfect little doggie all night long.

  Yeah, right.

  Thunder rumbles overhead just as the door opens and Izzy steps out with the same man as before right on her heels. He wraps an arm around her waist as he guides her across the parking lot, scanning the surrounding area and I slink back a little, remaining hidden in the shadows as they reach the truck. The man opens the passenger door for Izzy and as she climbs in, he scans the lot again, ever vigilant. He turns and I whisper a curse. The cut on his shoulders, bearing the patch of the local MC is a goddamn problem but hopefully, one that won’t cause me too many issues because I need to get this cleared up quickly. Besides the fact that she acted like such a heinous bitch to me, she also saw everything that happened in that alley and we can’t have her talking about what went down that night.

  At least more than she already has.

  God, that was such a clusterfuck. Once the guys out on the sidewalk called an ambulance for Izzy, we knew we had to get out of there quickly and we ended up shoving the body in the trunk of Gio’s car and dumping it out in the swamp. It was sloppy as hell and not how we like to do things but we didn’t have much of a choice with police on the way. And then she had to go and talk to the cops at the goddamn hospital. Gio already called our contact at the police station and had the report destroyed so that’s taken care of which just leaves Izzy - our little loose end. Not going to lie, there is a part of me that wants to just wrap this up as soon as we can and be done with it but then I think about the way she spoke to me, the way she disrespected me, and I know that won’t do. Izzy needs to be taught some fucking manners before she meets her end and I have so many wonderful ideas for how we can accomplish that. I smile as they pull the truck out of the parking lot and as soon as they are out of sight, I head back to my car and slip behind the wheel. Grabbing the tablet out of the back, I bring up the app for the tracker and watch as the little red dot travels down the street.

  “I love it when a plan comes together.”

  Tossing the tablet into the passenger seat, I pull out onto the street and turn down the same street they did, glancing over to keep an eye on their marker on the screen as I follow them. My mind wanders, laying out all of the ways Izzy could meet her end in front of me like a five-course meal, each option enticing in its own way. Her words from the other night come back to me and I smile. She said she wasn’t missing much when I mentioned that we never slept together and I’m tempted to show her the error of her ways before I kill her, show her what kind of man I really am. I scoff. She’d probably fucking love that. Torture is looking like a pretty good option, too. Christ knows she needs to be humbled and I would love to slice up her pretty skin but there are other options to consider, too. I once knew a guy who boiled body parts of his victims and it was… something to see. Fuck, I can still hear the way they screamed if I dwell on the thought too much. There was also a guy who would spend hours choking his victims just until they passed out and each time, they were sure they were going to die only to wake up a few seconds later and do it all over again. I only saw it done once but it was intense as hell and turned me the fuck on. I also can’t forget about the classics and my mind drifts to just how many blows to her tight little body with a pipe it would take before Izzy realized the error of her ways. The problem is that all of my options sound so damn appealing, except for the boiling. I can’t listen to that shit again but maybe I’ll mix the other three into a special little cocktail just for Izzy. My cock strains against my jeans as I think about strapping her down to a table and fucking her sweet little cunt while I cut and choke her. That could go on for hours or days until she’s begging me to just kill her, pleading with me to end it once and for all.

  God, that’s perfect.

  I can’t wipe the smile off of my face, imagining the way it’ll sound when she’s finally been put in her place and she is imploring me to stop her suffering as my eyes roll back in my head. Oh, yeah, I’ll be jacking off to that thought tonight. Glancing over in the passenger seat, I notice that the dot has stopped moving and I pull over to the side of the road before grabbing the tablet.

  “Shit.”

  I should h
ave known as soon as I saw the Bayou Devils MC patch on that bastard’s back that they’ve got her on their compound, tucked safely away behind a seven-foot-high wall, and this job just got a hell of a lot more complicated. But nothing is going to stand in my way, especially not a bunch of pussy ass bikers who don’t even realize the shit they stepped into when they agreed to protect that little bitch and her smart fucking mouth.

  Chapter Eleven

  Diego

  I am in hell.

  It’s a hell I walked into willingly, fought for even, and a hell I am working my ass off to keep myself shackled in but it’s hell, nonetheless.

  Pure and unadulterated torture.

  Living with Izzy for the past seven days has made a number of things blindingly clear to me. One, the connection we felt over our weekend together, the undeniable spark that brought us crashing together is still there. It fills the rooms of my house like fog, blanketing the two of us in a desire so strong that I thought about tying myself to the couch the other night so I didn’t end up sliding into my bed next to Izzy and pulling her lush body against me. I bite my lip as I fight off the memory of how damn good it feels to do just that and grip the steering wheel harder as I peek across the cab at the woman driving me out of my ever-loving mind. I can’t even tell you how many times a fucking day I fantasize about sinking my fingers into her hair and pulling the silky strands until her head drops back, giving me unlimited access to her perfect fucking lips. I’d fucking kiss her until she makes that little whimper slash moan sound in the back of her throat that makes my cock so hard I could smash granite.

  All goddamn day, she walks around my house in a tight little tank top that shows off her growing belly and barely contains her swollen tits, flashing me looks that she thinks I don’t see, her eyes full of heat, need, and memories of our weekend together. Last night, she strutted into the kitchen for a glass of water in her bra, a pair of shorts, and not a damn thing else like she’s trying to drive me to the brink of my sanity. Of course, none of it compares to the sweet, sleepy smile she flashed me this morning when she walked out of my bedroom in my t-shirt, her hair a wild mess of brunette curls around her perfect goddamn face, and I honestly don’t know how I didn’t jump up from the couch, follow her into the kitchen, and pin her curvy little hips up against the counter so she could feel just how much she’s tormenting me.

  Shit.

  She’s practically begging me to act out all of the filthy thoughts in my head but I know Izzy well enough to know better.

  Peeking over at her in the passenger seat of my truck, I can’t stop my gaze from slipping down the curve of her neck and dipping to the top of her breasts in another tank top that barely contains them. I lick my lips and grip the steering wheel tighter still, until my knuckles ache. Images from our weekend drift through my mind and I bite my lip to hold in a groan as I turn back to the road as my cock presses against the zipper of my jeans. Jesus, how many times over the past six months have I gotten myself off while thinking of only Izzy and what she can do to me with so little effort? Too many to count and when that stopped working, I started dreaming up fantasies of my own - thinking of all the things I would do to her if given a chance. Is that what this is? Is this a chance to get her underneath me again? Is this a chance for something… more?

  The second thing I’ve realized over the past week is that having Izzy with me, in my life, and in my house has been a godsend. More than a couple times since I hauled her back to my place, I’ve sat on the couch in the middle of the night with a foreign feeling of contentment settled in my chest and marveled at how quickly things can change. Before she came barging back into my life, I was a man on the ledge, spending all night at the clubhouse to avoid going home and facing the haunting emptiness in all aspects of my life. I didn’t have a shred of hope that things would ever get better and then there she was, like a fucking angel, pulling me from the darkness and into brilliant light. Having Izzy with me makes every single damn day better. You could say it’s just a distraction, something to keep me from thinking about all of the things that were weighing me down just a few days ago as I pour all of my energy into helping Izzy and getting ready for the arrival of our boy but it sure as hell feels like more than that. I’ve always been someone who believed that everything happened for a reason and while I’ve hated those thoughts for the past few years, I can’t help but think now that it was all necessary to get me here. Which brings me to the third thing I’ve come to realize ever since Izzy reappeared in my life.

  I want more.

  I want it all and I want it with her.

  As we pull into the clubhouse parking lot, I spare a glance in her direction again and she meets my eyes, arching a brow in question but I can’t think of a single thing to say to her. Not that I could actually tell her any of the things that are running through my head without sending her sprinting in the opposite direction. For as long as I’ve known her, Izzy has made her rules perfectly clear - she doesn’t do relationships and she doesn’t go back for seconds which means I’m so fucking screwed it’s not even funny. My gaze drops down to her lips and I wish like hell I could grab her arm, pull her across the seat, and kiss her until she agrees to make an exception to her rules, just this once. Yeah, right. Izzy’s goddamn middle name is obstinate so that’s never going to happen. I continue down, unable to pull my eyes away from the swell of her tits and I lick my lips. Her nipples pebble, pressing against the fabric of her tank top and I bite back a groan as I meet her gaze again.

  Goddamn.

  There is that look.

  “Something you need?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest and pinning me with a look that dares me to push this too far. Fuck, I just want to touch her, kiss her, make her understand that there is something between us, something that we can’t ignore but if I did that, she would be gone. I shake my head, trying desperately to clear it as I pull the truck into a spot in front of the clubhouse and put it in park.

  “Nope.”

  As our eyes meet again, her teeth sink into her bottom lip and my cock jumps. Is it just in my mind or is she looking at me like she wants to eat me alive? You can never fucking tell with Izzy because the only thing she loves more than flirting with absolutely anyone is fucking with them. But I’m beginning to see it for what it is – a defense mechanism - and Ali’s words have been playing in my head non-stop since I picked Izzy up from her house a week ago. My phone rings, breaking the spell and pulling me out of my thoughts. I sigh as I pull it out of my pocket and check the caller ID.

  Mobley.

  Shit.

  This can’t be good.

  Mobley almost never calls me since he doesn’t want to get too involved with the club, worried it’ll fuck up his career, and when he does reach out, it’s very rarely good news.

  “Hold up,” I say to Izzy as she reaches for the door handle. She turns back to me, her brows drawn together in concern, and I flash her the phone before accepting the call and pressing it to my ear. “Max, I’m always nervous when you call me first.”

  He scoffs on the other end of the line. “I gotta keep you on your toes, don’t I?”

  “I suppose,” I mutter with a laugh. “What’s up?”

  “Well, something was bugging me about that case you asked me for on Friday night so I wanted to go back and read through the report on the scene and the statement from the hospital, you know? See if anything stood out to me.”

  I nod. “Okay, and?”

  “And it’s gone.”

  My whole body jerks. “What? What do you mean it’s gone?”

  “The whole goddamn file is gone, fucking vanished into thin air like it never even happened.”

  “What about the digital copies?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you, Diego,” he whispers, malice in his voice. “It’s all gone.”

  What?

  How in the hell is that even possible?

  Physical files get lost sometimes; we don’t like it but it happens, which
is why there is a digital version saved to a main server and safeguards in place to make sure mistakes like this don’t happen. For both of the files to be gone would mean that Luca and Gio have got a pretty big fish over at the police department on their payroll. Any commanding officer worth a damn would have been on top of each report taken that night and he would have made sure that the reports were filed properly.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, trying like hell to wrap my mind around what all this means and what I need to do going forward to keep Izzy and our little boy safe. Without those reports, it’s so easy for them to make Izzy disappear and clean this whole damn mess up with a tidy little bow on top. Not to mention, that these guys are bigger and way more organized than I gave them credit for… unless they’re working for someone else and they’re just the errand boys.

  “Just wait, it gets worse.”

  My eyes widen. “Fucking how?”

  “I also put a call into my buddy over at the dispatch center to see if he could get me a recording of the nine-one-one call just so you’d have some sort of proof but that had also been erased.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” I growl, running a hand through my hair and giving it a tug. “So, what you’re saying is that…”

  “I’m saying it’s a fucking mess and that girl is in serious danger. If shit goes down, there is nothing to back y’all up and it’s so fucked. I wish there was something more I could do, Diego, but this whole fucking department,” he hisses, the outrage in his voice is something I’m all too familiar with. Shit like this is exactly why I made the decision to step away from the force and the blatant corruption I’d been fighting for years. At first, I told myself that I could do something about it, put a stop to it, but whenever we would cut off the head of one snake, two would grow back in its place. It was a vicious, never ending cycle and I’ve lost faith that it will ever get any better. Something slams in the background and he sighs. “It’s so fucking corrupt and half the damn time, I’m wondering what the hell I’m still doing here.”