by Isabel Wroth
He shook his head, and then saw something that made the words back up in his throat like a ten car pileup. Made his chest burn. There was a rocking chair by the fire place, and a blanket draped over the back of it. Or the beginnings of one, and a very familiar shirt pinned to it. “That my shirt?” He croaked, and when he tore his eyes away from it, he saw Everly for the first time fidget with embarrassment, “Yeah. You can um, have it back if you want it.” For her to show this much embarrassment, it was probably a big deal. A huge deal. “Why is it on that blanket?” She twisted her fingers in the hem of her shirt, trying and failing to regain the confident look on her face. Unable to look him in the eyes now, “It’s nothing. Just something I was doing to ah, pass the time.”
“I am not going to ask again. Why is my shirt on that blanket?”
She huffed and rolled her eyes, the green gold orbs glistening with tears as she refused to look at him. A few fell and she hastily swiped at them grumbling about her stupid hormones, heading back for the kitchen to bang the tea kettle back down on the stove. “I thought about telling you. I struggled with it. For real, but in the end I decided that I didn’t have the emotional stability to deal with it if you rejected us or told me to get rid of it or something. I messed up with my birth control, this is my mistake, I’m sorry and I want it.”
“Everly, god damnit, why-“
“Because, asshole! Even if he never knew your face, I wanted him to know what it felt like to have his father’s arms around him. Okay?”
Chapter Four
The silence that followed her emotional, exasperated shout was deafening. She was shaking so much she was having trouble grinding up the marigold leaves, the dried ginger and turmeric roots to make her second cup of tea. Using it to try and focus her blurry eyes, furiously grinding at the stuff, and almost coming out of her skin when Roar’s hot, strong hands slid over her belly, gently pulling her back into the cradle of his body. He was shaking too, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the rage that turned his tropical blue eyes to ice, “A boy?” He whispered hoarsely in her ear, his voice still a deep, guttural growl. “Yes. I want this tea, don’t you dare knock it out of my hands again-“
“My boy.”
“Yes, did you hear me?”
“My son,”
“Jesus, Roar, you’re not deaf. Yes, can I please just make this god damn tea-“
“In a minute. Put that thing down.”
Exasperated, exhausted, emotionally drained, she thunked her mortar and pestle down on the countertop, huffing when he took one hand off of her belly to turn the stove off. “Roar,” he spun her around, one hand on her ass now and the other big beefy mit curled gently around her throat. It didn’t occur to her for one second that he was going to hurt her, even after how he’d shoved Susan against the wall like that, he used his body to intimidate a woman, but she could tell just from the look in his eyes that he wasn’t even considering it. She knew what that looked like, that need to hurt another person, knew what that felt like, and knew how to hurt them back. Even someone as big as Roar, she was confident she could take him.
He stared down into her eyes, his face a stone mask. Hard, expressionless, his eyes seeking back and forth between hers. She prepared herself for whatever blow he was going to deliver, shivering at the sweep of his thumb across the underside of her jaw, “Why?” He asked, and she shuddered at the rumble of his deep voice. God she hated how even still, even furious and yelling at her, his voice was like black magic to her senses. “Why what?” She snapped back, hoping if she was pissy enough he’d let her go, “Why do this? Keep my son when you don’t know shit about me, other than I can make you blow like a geyser and that I piss you off.”
The answer was one she hadn’t really even acknowledged to herself, but it rolled off her tongue like water, and there was no taking it back. “I don’t have anyone else. I’m tired of being alone, and having no one to love. I was just a body to pass the time for you, I get that, and it’s okay. But I want this, and I don’t expect your h-help.” She stuttered over the last word because her god damn hormones were raging now, which pissed her off and made her sound all weak and helpless. “Jesus, you’re one tough bitch.” He murmured, not a curse, not an insult. To a biker, that was high praise. And in her current state, she could not deal with praise. Mad? She could take mad. Praise? Nope. “I was raised in an MC, and daddy expected no less. Can I make my god damn tea now?”
He nodded, reaching around her to turn the stove back on and let her turn around, but didn’t take his hand off her stomach. Didn’t move away to let her compose herself. Bastard lowered his chin to her shoulder, turned his lips to her cheek and just stood there behind her while she made her damn tea. “What MC?” He asked after she poured the hot water into her mug, making her jolt, then shiver with the bolt of sorrow that arrowed down through her body. “Why?”
“What MC?”
“What’s with the questions? Worried I’m from a rival gang? Ow!” She slapped his thigh and glared over her shoulder at him for the sharp nip he gave her on the ear. “Just answer me,” He sighed, like he was tired. Ha! What the fuck did he know about tired? “They’re all dead now. Does it really matter?”
“Yes.”
“Fuckin relentless,” She muttered, scooping her loose tea into a bag to plop into the water, “Taggart Tornadoes MC.”
“Taggart Tornadoes. As in, Stoneface Taggart’s MC.”
“Yep.”
“Taggart MC, that got blown to fucking hell on some poor bastard’s wedding day by a Nazi Skinhead gang?”
“Thanks so much for reminding me.”
She shoved out of his hold, grabbed her tea and hustled her ass outside where she could breathe, trying not to remember that day. Not wanting to remember that day. God she didn’t want to remember. But the images came and she sank down to the back porch stairs, hating how her bottom lip wobbled. Hating that for some perverse reason it made her feel a little better when Roar came outside after her and quietly sat down beside her. Finally silent, but he’d opened the damn door on her memories, and now they wouldn’t stop pouring out of that dark hole she’d shoved them in and dripped from her eyelashes. “I moved out here to get away from those memories. To be alone. Until that night I walked into Perdition’s compound, I hadn’t been back to the life. Didn’t realize that I made myself forget how much I missed it. How much I missed being loved by some rough, hot, raunchy ass biker.”
“Everly-“ She waved her hand at the harshness of his voice, throwing Squatch’s ball for him, just to see him go tearing off with joy to find it. “I know it wasn’t anything special, Roar. Don’t worry that I’m going to go all clingy on you. I get it.”
“Oh really?”
The tight, furious tone of his voice made her look at him sideways. Wondering what she’d said now to piss him off. “Yeah. And why the fuck would you think I’d carry this baby to term, only to hand him off to social services, toss him away like he was garbage or something?” He groaned like she’d just committed the worst crime against him yet, “Jesus, woman.”
“What? Seriously, why?”
“Because the day my mom died, her husband did that to me. Took me to a cop shop, told them he’d found me wandering around the city by myself and beat fucking feet.”
Stunned by his sharp, angry bark she shook her head and marveled at him. “What a piece of shit. No wonder you’re fucked up. How old were you?”
“Three.” He growled, shooting her a look that told her he was daring her to ask more questions. “Puh-lease. You scare me about as much as Squatch.”
Knowing his name, her puppy came and dropped the ball at Roar’s feet, wiggling with impatience while the battle hardened biker just stared at him like he didn’t know what to do. She rolled her eyes and commanded her pup to bring it, laughing when Squatch pouted before bringing her the ball and starting his wiggle all over again. She threw it for him and he tore off with a joyful bark, pouncing through her flowers and the grass until
he could find the ball and maul it like it was an intruder. Shame that the real intruders, he tried to lick their faces off. “I’ll be back to get you in two hours.” Roar said definitively. “Get me? For what?”
“It’ll take me that long to get back to the compound, get my shit, make us an appointment at the Boneyard to get your brand and come back to get you.”
“Wh-what? What brand?”
“My brand.”
“Like hell, am I wearing your brand.”
She found herself flat on her back, her second mug of tea spilled on the deck, and a big, sexy fucking biker straddling her hips. One hand spread wide over her stomach, the other planted by her ear while he glared down at her. “That’s my son in there, yeah?” He questioned tightly, and she nodded, gulping down a sudden dose of wariness. That look in his eye was… she didn’t know what. “Then you fucking better believe he will know my face. Know his father. You want this boy, then you get the whole package. My brand on your body, my ring on your finger, your ass riding bitch on my bike.” Crazy. He was crazy. “You have lost your fucking mind, no way-“
“You decided you were going to keep my son, I’m deciding he’s going to have married fucking parents. Eighteen years, minimum. You want to leave me after that, fine. Until then, you’re mine. You’ve got two hours to throw a fit, then I’ll be back. Test me and think about running, and I will hunt you down.”
“Roar, come on, you can’t be serious.”
“Test. me.”
What the hell had she been thinking, stepping back into her old life?
She was so screwed.
Two hours later she heard the roar of the pipes and saw the dust trail that the tires of Roar’s bike kicked up as he tore up her driveway. Her heart was pounding, her hands sweating, shaking a little as he parked his Fat Boy beside her Jeep. Watched him use the heel of his boot to snap the kickstand out in a practiced, smooth move. Watched him unclip his helmet and rake his hand through his thick, gorgeous hair and settle the black bowl on the handlebars. Watched his thigh muscles bunch while he dismounted and grabbed up the Army duffel from where he’d strapped it behind him, slung it over his shoulder and walked right past her to dump it just inside the door. “Come in here,” He told her gruffly, and she fought not to tell him to fuck off. She was about to make a deal with this devil, and he had to be receptive. Not pissed off.
She got up and dusted her sweaty hands off on her butt, crossing her arms over her chest while she passed him at the door. She risked a peek up at his face, shivering at the stone cold mask he wore, the coldness turning his eyes to ice blue instead of the warm tropical blue they turned when he was in the throes of passion. She liked that expression better. “You gonna wear that to the tat shop?” He asked, nodding at her work stained jeans, and her company shirt that proclaimed her turf, Never Ever Land. “What’s wrong with it?” He lifted his brow, licked his beautiful lips and pulled his hand down the golden scruff on his jaw. “Depends on where you’re gonna put my brand.”
“About that,”
“Not giving you a choice. You’re keeping my boy, you’re getting my brand, you’re my bitch. End of.”
Her jaw clenched, her fists too and she fought with all that was in her to not sock him across his pretty face. She took a slow, deep breath in and refused to lose her cool. “You said you grew up in an MC, this shouldn’t be that fucking hard to understand. Man takes care of his business.” Counting. Counting to twenty helped. Breathing in slow and steady, that helped. But that arrogant tone of his fucking voice chapped her ass. “It’s not. The hard part is believing that you, biggest man whore in your MC, gets his conquest of the night pregnant and suddenly is commanding marriage and branding. The hard part is trying to be understanding that I made a mistake by not telling you right off. The hard part is not booting you in the balls so hard you never sire another kid, ever again for using that tone of voice on me, like I’m still just club slut pussy. I’m not club slut pussy, and I never will be. Keep testing me, asshole, and I’ll let loose that bitch you keep calling me.”
He blinked, some of the ice melting off the edges of his eyes, and a completely new look crossed his features while he studied her face. He reached his rough hand out to lift her chin, tilting her eyes into a beam of the fading sunlight and rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip, pulling it gently down the center in what felt like a helluva possessive caress. “Your eyes heat up when you get pissed. The gold swims up out of all that green. Copper too. Sexy as fuck, baby.” Her cheeks fired with a mix of lust and anger, the endearment and the way he murmured it so huskily, ugh. Not fair! She slapped his hand away and glared at him hotly. Asshole just grabbed a handful of her hair instead and pulled her close, rubbing his nose up the side of her face and into her hair to breathe in deep. “Get the fuck off, Roar. I’m not falling for your shit. You want to help me raise this baby, fine. I’ll wear your brand, but you are not living here, and I am not marrying you.”
“Jesus. You’re serious.” He was fucking laughing at her. His eyes dancing with amusement while she seethed. “Let. Go. Of my hair.” She bit out, but it was like he didn’t even hear her, staring at her like he was.
He backed her farther into the house, scooping his arm under her butt to lift her in a move so effortless that her fury evaporated like mist as soon as her tits hit his chest and her hands curled around his strong, wide shoulders to keep herself from melting into a puddle of goo. She jolted when he set her down on her own kitchen counter and in a casual swipe of his big paw, knocked her knees apart and stepped between them. He surrounded her with the scent of him, wind, leather, amber, freedom, man. The heat of his body, crowding her until she was pressed to him from groin to chest. Almost nose to nose. He let go of her hair and cupped her hips, glancing down with this funny look on his face at how her belly was pressed up against his.
He shook himself like a lion, shaking water off its mane and swallowed loudly before looking back up at her with those eyes of his gone narrow. “I know what I look like. I know how to make a woman come so hard her eyes cross. Did it to you. Five times. I’m not a pussy hipster, I ride with a club that’s got a good reputation for taking care of business. You’re getting big with my baby, that you chose to keep, which tells me you like something about me. Probably the sex, don’t blame you, cause it was fuckin phenomenal. You tellin me you don’t want to keep that, be my old lady, doesn’t really jive.”
She just stared at him, unable to believe the shit that had just come out of his mouth. Un, fucking believable. Bikers. Jesus, she knew better. “You are one arrogant son of a bitch, Roar. You look like a fucking lion, and you roar the fucking roof off like one too. Yeah, you do know how to make a woman come so hard her eyes cross. Did it to me, and half this fucking town. It was seven times, not five. No, you’re no pussy hipster, and your club, has that reputation. Not you. Your reputation involves a lot of fucking. Figures, that I hook up with that guy, at my first hog roast in eight years. I’m not getting big, asshole, I am literally creating another human being, inside my body. And what I like about you…can’t come up with one thing. The sex was fuckin phenomenal, but there’s plenty of swinging dicks to provide phenomenal sex. I sure as fuck don’t want to keep you, because I’m not stupid. You can brand me, put a ring on my finger, make me your old lady in name only, but I don’t believe for one second you’ll keep your vows and not fuck around with the sluts at your club behind my back.”
His nostrils flared, and that crazed rage filled his pretty eyes again. His hands flexed on her hips and she felt him tremble with the restraint it took to keep a lid on his temper. “You got the next eighteen years to figure out what you like about me, and you’re talkin to the wrong fucking people if the only reputation you heard about me was that I like to fuck.” She let her brow quirk up and hoped her face displayed the disinterest she was forcing herself to feel, but her pulse was pounding and her pussy was on fire, all for this big, bad ass sexy fucking biker. “You don’t know me, yet, but you will. F
irst thing you should know, being born and bred MC, is what it means to a man to wear a cut and claim a club as his family. You should know, that when we give our word, it’s fuckin law. You wear my brand, you wear my ring and raise my kid, and there will be no fucking around behind your back.”
“Sorry, don’t buy it that you’re gonna give it all up, just for little old me.”
“Honey,” His breath washed over her lips, and the traitorous swells quivered at the proximity. Remembering just how good it felt to have his mouth. “Give me your eyes.”
She flicked her gaze up, blushing because he’d caught her staring at his mouth, doing her best not to squirm under the heat of his angry stare. “That’s my brat in your belly, and before you push him from your body, you will have my brand, my ring, and my name. You get me?”
“Don’t you ever, call my son, your brat. My father taught me to be creative with knives, and I will cut your swinging dick off if that word is ever, associated with my baby.”
He blinked, slow and lazy, his lips curling in a satisfied smirk. She shivered when his thumbs slid up under the edge of her shirt and swept gently up and down the sides of her belly. “Answer me,” He growled, and she narrowed her eyes at him, “Before I have this baby, ring on my finger.”
“Yes.”
“Your word?”
“Have it.”
“Fine. I’m due in March. You have five months to convince me to marry you. I’ll go change for my appointment.”
