BOSS: The Wolf

by Jolie Day

  My hands shake as I open the box and read over the instructions. I feel like I’m floating out of my body as I pee on the stick and carefully place it on the side of the tub to wait.

  I curl my knees to my chest, sitting on the loo, afraid to look at the result. The most troubling part about all of this is that amid all of the stress, flashes of Joel’s face keep going through my mind, and I find them oddly comforting. Even though all he’s apparently worried about right now is work, something tells me that whatever comes of this—somehow, I’ll be okay.

  You’d think the reality of this marriage and pregnancy-scare situation would be enough to snap me out of my crush on him, but apparently not. With a heavy sigh, I unfold my legs and snatch the test off the tub.

  I’m fully prepared to see the negative result I need—the one I’ve manifested.

  But, no. Staring back at me from that stupid little white stick is a pair of two very clear and very distinct lines. I scramble to double-check the instructions—maybe I got the positive and negative confused (yeah, right). No such luck.

  I’m definitely knocked up with my boss’s baby—my husband’s baby.

  Shit. I slink off to my bed and hide under the covers, wondering how in the hell this could get any worse.

  And then somebody rings the doorbell.

  18

  Joel

  Eric and I return to the hotel near our attorney’s office in Providence and try to come up with a solution for this IPO shitstorm. After a few messages and phone calls back and forth, they still claim there’s nothing they can do to change the investors’ minds. Something that was solid and profitable to them days ago is now untouchable? It doesn’t sit right and pisses me the fuck off. They want no part of it. All because of some stupid shit they read on the Internet about my father: some missing financial documents, and all the trouble the old club got into.

  It doesn’t matter. I’ll find a way to make the investment bankers come around.

  We called some of the boys to meet up at one of our favorite dive bars in town. The rest of the Hell’s Seven club was ready to jump on their bikes for a long ride out to see us, and the Narraganset guys from the Rhode Island chapter were close enough to join us, too.

  It’s a nice break to blow off some steam after the shit we’d dealt with today.

  “Didn’t expect you here, Clay.”

  “Thought you might need me. Heard about what happened.” Clay extends his hand for a bro-handshake, and I return the gesture.

  It’s a place for other bikers like us—a dark, smokey hole in the wall with neon beer signs covering the walls—filled with strippers. Think “Titty Twister” from Tarantino’s movie, From Dusk Till Dawn, but this place is called Suzi’s Tipsy Motor Shack—You can only get in if you’re a biker. It smells like beer, sweat, bar food, and stale cigarette smoke. There are clusters of smaller groups, motorcycle clubs like ours, laughing together or eyeing women dancing in their booths. There’s a wall of slot machines, a couple pool tables, and a few spots for playing cards. But the guys and me are in the back playing darts.

  I walk over to the wooden stools lined up along the counter, resting my boot on the brass foot rail and order us another round. A situation like this calls for blowing off some steam with both my right-hand men in the company as well as my fellow MC members. It’s good to be around the boys right now. I appreciate the fact that I belong to both the corporate business world and the biker underground. I refuse to be ashamed of that just because some stiff-necked, smug-faced, head-up-their-ass bankers tell me I should.

  While I’m waiting for our drinks, a sexy stripper makes her way over to me. Her long, straight black hair flows down her back and over one pale shoulder to cover her left breast. She’s nice to look at, yeah, but she’s got nothing on Charlie.

  Not my type, but she’s prettier than the average stripper: firm ass, round perky tits. Makes me think about Charlie. Fuck, I need a drink.

  She pierces me with her green eyes and runs a red-tipped nail down the front of my jacket. “I’m Mandy.” She bites her bottom lip. “Haven’t seen you around here before. Would you like a private dance?”

  I take a step back and shake my head. “Joel. Thanks, but I’ve got a girl waiting for me.”

  She moves in closer, brushing her hair back, giving me the full view of her tits. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  I smirk. “Sorry, doll. I’m not your guy.”

  Mandy nods with a small smile and looks over at Vorn. “Who’s the hunk? Is that Josh Vorn, president of the Hell’s Seven?”

  I lean my elbows against the bar. “You’ve heard of him?”

  Mandy’s eyes widen. “Who hasn’t?”

  “See you around, Mandy.”

  With a few beers in my hands, I head back to our stools by the dartboards where the rest of my guys are waiting. They each toss back a big swig when I hand them over. It feels good to have them around me right now—like being grounded.

  I feel somebody behind me, and it’s Mandy. She seems hesitant when she whispers in my ear: “Introduce me to him, would you?”

  I face her, and she inclines her head, mouthing, “Vorn?”

  “Vorn, this is Mandy.”

  Before I can say anything else, Mandy takes over. “I heard you’re the owner of the Sinner’s Lounge.” She pauses, staring at him with a hopeful expression. “Are you guys hiring?”

  Vorn gives her the once-over and raises an eyebrow. “Get in touch with Marlene. Here, I’ll give you her number. Tell her I sent you.” He scrawls the information on a bar napkin and hands it over.

  “Thank you.” She holds the napkin to her chest. “I really appreciate it.”

  Vorn lift’s his beer in a nod and gives her a half-smile. “No problem, Mandy. Have a nice night.”

  I watch as her eyes travel over Vorn again. Man, I think she’s got it bad based on the look on her face.

  I chuckle when Mandy’s out of earshot. “I think you’ve got a lovesick girl on your hands there, Vorn.” I throw back my beer and take a few swigs and wipe my mouth with the back of my sleeve.

  “Shut the fuck up, Joel.”

  “Just sayin’, man. You’ve got no idea.”

  “Don’t you have girl problems?” He stares at me over the rim of his beer bottle. “That’s what I’ve heard.”

  “Nope.” Fuck, everybody around here seems to know something’s up with Charlie.

  I glare at Clay, and he changes the subject.

  “Your dad was so crazy and wild on a normal day, there’s no telling where those records could be.”

  Vorn looks at me, sliding a toothpick between his teeth. “He was really stressed that year, half strung out on drugs trying to cope.”

  “Not only is there no telling where they are, you’ve got no idea what you’d find in them if you tracked them down.” Clay looks to me. “Sounds to me like you guys are full-blown fucked.”

  Eric shrugs and leans back. “It probably wouldn’t make the bankers feel any better—that’s for damn sure.”

  “But I’m not my father, as you’ve all reminded me along the way. And he’s not a fair representation of Embry. Why the fuck does that one little blip in an otherwise impeccable history of business and success have to kill the whole deal?”

  Max shakes his head. “Well, if you didn’t know why your granddad insisted on sending you off to that damn boarding school—you do now. One man really can bring the whole house of cards crashing down.”

  “Yeah, he was trying to keep me clean and out of prison. Didn’t want me to have a record outside juvie and end up like my father.” Good old Walter. Rest in peace, Gramps.

  Max nods. “Looks like he made a good decision.”

  “Maybe we don’t need to go down this road of public stock offerings at all,” I grumble when the owner and bartender Suzi herself brings out our shots.

  She’s in her mid-fifties with bleach-blonde hair. She throws Vorn a wink and mouths a silent, “Hey, handsome.”

&
nbsp; Just when Suzi walks away, the usually chill-as-fuck Eric jumps from his stool, glaring toward the door. “What the fuck is that asshole doing here?”

  19

  Joel

  Hell, I never thought I’d see the day Eric lost his shit. Everybody stands, and Vorn puts a hand on Eric’s arm. “Who’s the guy?”

  “The fucking bum that broke into my shop.” He seethes. “Jorge Zahíno.”

  The dude’s tall, dressed in black, a shit-ton of tattoos, and black hair hanging in stringy strands in his face. He looks like he’s cracked out on something when he makes his way over.

  He raises his hands. “I ain’t here for no trouble. I didn’t break-in to your shop either, man. It’s the Sons. They caught me off guard. The coward-ass motherfuckers. Took five of ’em to take me down. The sons of bitches took my bike and guns.”

  Huh, so Zahíno’s got beef with the Sons, too. No surprise there.

  “All right.” Vorn stops him. “What’s going on with the Sons?”

  “I had no choice but to hide, and this guy’s shop”—He tilts his head toward Eric—“was the closest place. I was wondering if I could join the Hell’s.”

  “What for? Need protection?”

  The guy laughs. “Nah. “He raises his shirt, and for a moment, I think he’s about to pull a gun. But no. There are deep, fresh wounds. Looks like he stitched himself up. “I can protect myself. Thought you might need a man.”

  Vorn eyes him with suspicion. “You on painkillers?”

  Zahíno nods.

  “Come back and see me when you’re clean, and I’ll think about it.”

  He nods again. “Thanks, Vorn.” He turns to Eric. “Sorry about your shop, man. I didn’t take anything.”

  Eric inclines his head but doesn’t say a word.

  After that, Zahíno turns and staggers out of the bar.

  Clay picks up his whiskey. “Well, that came outta nowhere.”

  I stare at Vorn with a “What the fuck” look.

  “Not sure if I trust the guy or if he’s worth the risk.” He takes a swig of his beer and sits on his stool. “We’ll just have to wait it out and see.”

  Eric snorts. “So, the dude was hiding from the Sons, and here I thought it was them fucking with me.”

  Vorn and Max exchange a glance, and Max adds, “That’s why we don’t start shit, guns blazing without proof. Gotta keep a clear head when it comes to fucked-up shit like that.”

  Max’s words end the discussion, and everybody settles onto their stools ready for a game of darts.

  I toss back a shot of whiskey, feeling the burn down my throat, deciding to get back to the subject. “Anyway, I bet this presentation I asked some of my people and Charlie to put together will help. Charlie’s on it. She’s international, so she’ll bring a fresh perspective to the team. I’m sure it’ll give the investors more confidence.” All four of them shoot me a skeptical expression at the mention of her name.

  “Did I miss something?” Eric asks, noticing their reaction. “Did you ever ask Charlie out?”

  “They slept together,” Clay blurts out.

  What the fuck? I could choke the shit outta him right now.

  Eric grins. “You didn’t say anything?”

  Clay pipes in again and points to me. “Look at him. It’s obvious.”

  Yep, I’m gonna kill him.

  Eric stares at me. “Dude, you’re living everybody’s dream.”

  I hear Max chuckle beside me. Fucker.

  “Well, she is,” I retort and the guys hoot with laughter and high-five me.

  “Speaking of,” Clay interrupts the commotion, “Charlie hasn’t been to work for a couple days. She called in sick.”

  Eric and the guys carry on, but I start to get worried, assuming the time away has to do with our accidental marriage and the annulment. I wanted her to have whatever sense of ease she could. The whole thing makes me feel guilty. All right. Think. I pull my cell from my back pocket and text her to let her know I can find a private copy shop to receive the fax—or even fly her in to sign the papers if business takes longer than expected here.

  She doesn’t respond.

  I snap to when it’s my turn at the dartboard, and after my throw, Max’s eyes burn into me with suspicion. Of course he knows something’s up, as always.

  “Well, as far as the IPO goes, you’ve got to finish what you started. You know that.”

  I do know that, and I can’t help but laugh. It’s time to come clean. I planned on keeping my mouth shut like Charlie asked me to, but having it in the back of my mind was distracting me from the business at hand. Besides, I know I can trust the guys. They’d never breathe a word of it to anybody.

  “What about getting accidentally drunk married in Vegas?”

  Dead silence.

  “What’s the right way to fix something like that?” I throw it all out casually and revel in their wave of expressions—shock, disbelief, slight amusement. “Any of you ever been in that situation?”

  “Can’t say that I have.” Eric chuckles, shaking his head.

  “Nah, man.” Max claps his hand on my shoulder. “That’s a mess only you would find yourself in.”

  “Actually, I’m surprised this happened to you of all people.” Vorn raises his eyebrows in disbelief.

  Max tilts his head, retracting a little. “You’re right. He’s usually the first one to reject the idea of love or marriage or settling down. It gives him a rash.”

  “Well, you know…alcohol.” I shrug. “I don’t know whose idea it was. Mine. Hers. What does it matter now? Probably hers, and I was too drunk off my ass to say no. I was trying to help her find a way to stay in America is my guess.”

  “No way.” Clay interjects, crossing his arms. “I saw you two that night. I doubt it was her idea, and to me, it sure as hell didn’t look like it was just about citizenship.”

  “Wait. You saw us get the bright idea to get married?”

  He holds up his hand. “Calm down.”

  “And you didn’t do a fucking thing to stop us—or talk some sense into me?”

  “I didn’t know anything about marriage, okay? I was in the corner of the hotel bar talking to this chick, Brianna. Huge tits. Bat tattoo on her ass. Told you about her, but you weren’t listening. Never called me back, the bitch.”

  “And?” I gesture impatiently for him to continue.

  “I was trying to seal the deal, so I didn’t come talk to you guys. But the way you were looking at her…jeez. I’d never seen you like that. Nah, man, I wasn’t worried about you making a run for one of those chapels. I was worried about something more serious. You looked like you were straight-up falling in love.”

  Of course, all the guys start laughing at the idea.

  “There ain’t no papers to sign to get your way out of that.” Max smirks.

  “You’re fucked.” Eric digs his fingers into a bowl of nuts, stuffing a handful into his mouth.

  Sitting on a stool against the wall, while Clay takes his throw, my mind drifts to Charlie, and I start peeling the soggy label off my beer bottle. Flashes of that night start coming back to me. That image of Charlie laughing—looking more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever seen. Suddenly, I can remember more of it than before.

  It was me who made the stupid joke about us getting married, but I didn’t think anything of it. I just blurted it out without thinking, and she looked so terrified at the idea I figured, hey, that was that. But as we kept drinking together and talking, we floated around to a few more bars. I remember laughing harder than I ever had with a woman, to the point that my cheeks hurt and the muscles in my stomach were sore. It didn’t feel like hanging with a woman I’d slept with, where I was just bored out of my mind or ready to get her into my bed again.

  Hanging out with Charlie was like hanging out with one of the guys, except she’s a woman, and I was attracted to her. It was somehow, natural. God, I sound like a fucking chick. Her breasts, her hips, her ass—Damn. But on top of tha
t, she was smart as a whip, ballsy, sassy, and surprising—she never did or said anything I expected her to.

  We were strolling back toward the hotel and passed one of the giant stone fountains. She started walking along the edge of it like a balance beam, one heel in each hand, then stopped to dip her naked toes in.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I warned her.

  “What?”

  “Do you know how many dudes have probably pissed in that thing?”

  Her eyes flashed with mischief. “Stop it, I don’t believe you.”

  We were in a standoff until she threw her head back in wild laughter. It seemed so suggestive—like what kinds of things would this girl get into in the bedroom?

  Charlie starts to teeter on the edge, and I go to catch her before she falls in the water. When I do, my hands snake up her legs to that fine ass, and I stop. My dick jerks in response when I look into her eyes, and she jumps out of my arms, a huge smile on her face.

  Holy fuck! Is she even wearing panties?

  But before I could get too lost in that thought, she bolted off again with me chasing behind. That’s how the rest of the night was once she got a few drinks in her, when usually it was the other way around with chicks—them following me around.

  We passed a woman with a stroller, and I huffed something about how sad it was to have your kids with you in Vegas. I never shied away from expressing my disdain for the idea of marriage and kids, just like the guys reminded me. But she gave a long speech about that very thing that got me thinking in a whole different way.

  “It’s not like you die after you get married and have kids. If anything, life should be even more fun and exciting after that. It’s like your job—it’s demanding. You’re all stiff and suited up during the day, but outside the office, you’re a free man on your bike. Kids are no different. In a place like this, you have fun as a family during the day, then you leave them with a sitter and go out to get into trouble. You find your partner in crime, you know? That’s what Mum always told me, even after Dad left. So, it stuck. If anything, seeing families here should give someone like you hope.”