by Snow, Nicole
“What're you gonna do?” Beam reached into his pocket and plucked out a cigarette. “They can't keep you caged up with the kid like a fucking rat. I'll bring it to a vote if I have to. It's a risk, pissing off my brothers, but I'll do it for you.”
My heart drummed. I cocked my head and gave him a serious look. Maybe I had a guardian angel here after all, if angels were tall, dark, and wore the world's most ridiculous punk rock haircut.
“Why are you trying to get in the middle of this? I appreciate your help, Beam, but Roman's right about one thing – it's between him and me. Nobody else. I brought this crap down on myself, trying to keep secrets I should've dealt with years ago.”
“Bullshit. It's club business now,” he snapped. He held up a lighter to the white stick in his mouth, and I raised a hand. “Oh, shit. Right. I'll take this outside for the kid's sake. Sorry.”
“Beam...” I reached for his leather clad shoulder, feeling a little lightning tingle in my fingers when we touched. “You're a good man. I don't want you getting into trouble.”
He smiled. “Trust me, I know how to handle myself. I'm a full patch member here. Not a prospect anymore. The minute that asshole dragged you in here, you went under club protection. Not his. If he fucking roughs you up or makes you cry, you come running to me, baby. I'll make him stop. He doesn't scare me. Everybody who's been around our brother the past few months knows the fucker needs to be taken down a notch.”
I blinked, and simply nodded. There was nothing left to say. “Thank you,” I mouthed one more time, letting him out.
I went into the bathroom and washed my face. Feeling the cool, refreshing water on my skin helped soften the living nightmare rising up around me.
God, why couldn't I have waited a couple more years before fucking a Grizzlies man?
Beam was just an underdressed gentleman compared to Roman, even if he was playing nice because he wanted in my pants. I understood him. I could talk to him without feeling every muscle in my body tense up, bracing for the unknown.
Unfortunately, wishes didn't mean a damned thing here. I was stuck dealing with the raging bull, and I'd have to ride him until he either set me free or tore me to shreds.
I couldn't let him. I'd play along. I'd bide my time.
I couldn't help cousin Norm or the ranch now. But I'd never stop protecting my son, guard Caleb from Roman's insanity at all costs.
He'd have to kill me before he ever pulled us apart, or God forbid, infected our son with his wicked, moody, outlaw brand of poison. I'd wear the bastard's brand if he forced it on me, but I'd die before he ever muscled his way into Caleb's heart, or into mine.
VI: Taking Control (Roman)
She gave me the evil eye every time I stormed into my old room. Sally looked at me like she'd cut my damned throat in my sleep, so I called in favors and crashed at Rabid and Christa's place instead, giving her and the kid some space to settle in.
Christ, the kid.
Her dirty little secret upended my life overnight.
A couple days passed, and I still couldn't fucking believe I was a father. I'd missed everything in prison, and then after I was out, months of my boy's life, hidden away forever.
No goddamned way was I ever letting that happen again. I didn't know the first thing about being a dad, but I'd learn. My son was worth it. I'd be a man, raise him as I saw fit, and if anybody got in the way of that, I'd tear their fucking head off.
I didn't need nine months of reading books before I took charge. When I saw that baby cooing in his crib, my heart thudded about a hundred times faster. Two emotions shot through my skull.
Love. And I'm talking about heart stopping, kick your ass to pieces love, love so strong it's like having a jet engine blasting in your chest. I didn't even need the bitch to confirm he was mine – I fucking knew it the instant he looked at me.
A man knows his flesh and blood, and I damned well knew mine. Sure, the Prez would force a paternity test at some point, but I didn't have a single shred of doubt. If he wasn't really mine, this primal storm roaring in my head wouldn't have awakened like a bear coming outta hibernation.
Then there was the hate. It crept in about the same time that cosmic, thick love stream picked me up and slammed me down at a thousand miles an hour.
I hated while I loved. I fucking raged. I abhorred her for what she'd done to me, and then hated her some more for feeding the confusion frenzy rattling my skull.
If Sally were a man, I would've kicked her ass, and wouldn't have thought twice about it for what she did.
Shit, my hands twitched every time she gave me that dirty look. I wanted to rip her pants off, lay her over my lap, and smack that ass until she screamed, bare minimum.
That wasn't the worst of it. She made me feel like a goddamned bastard every time she gave me those big blue doe eyes, and I needed her in my son's life.
Nothing was simple here. Like it or not, Sally reached out and grabbed my dick by the balls, flung me to the moon, and left me throbbing. I wanted to spank her, make her feel my pain, just as bad as I wanted to fuck her.
I couldn't turn my dick off, even though my angry blood threatened to melt me from the inside out whenever I looked at her.
Hell, I wanted to work this shit out the only way I knew how with a woman. I'd grab her throat, press her against the wall, split her legs apart, and smother her tongue with mine. I wanted to ruin every goddamned pair of panties she had, shred 'em 'til she was left with fucking nothing, no barrier to my cock pounding inside her on demand.
I'd fuck her hard. Fuck so deep inside her she'd be too numb with pleasure to even think about escaping.
Fucking fixed what fighting couldn't. I knew it was senseless, I knew it was wrong, but fuck if I didn't want it.
And watching her make evil eyes at me didn't help one iota. She looked at me like I'd just crawled outta the nearest sewer, and I tried my damnedest to control the killer napalm shooting through my veins every time I looked at her.
She was a bitch. I was a bastard. We matched. And crawling in the sack was the only thing in the world threatening to prove otherwise.
Too damned bad it wasn't the time or place for that shit. She'd just have to be wrong, and I'd remind her while I figured out how the hell to handle her.
No, dammit, I wouldn't cut her out like a fucking cancer, even if the temptation to do it burned me up every night before going to sleep, throttled my brain 'til I drowned it out with a few shots of Jack.
We were at a big fucking impasse.
Prisoner and captive. Mama and papa. Soon to be old lady and old man in nothing but name only.
Sally was too big an evil, two timing demon for me to embrace her the way I always imagined making it official with a woman – and the only time I'd ever given it two seconds of thought was before everything went to shit with her.
But she was also too sweet with the kid to kick her to the curb. She had a cruel charm, without even knowing it, a venom in her embrace that stopped me in my tracks. She was just sickly sweet enough to make me wish like fuck I wasn't gonna have to drag her to the altar someday, kicking and screaming.
Damn if I wasn't gonna do it anyway. My boy would have a ma and a dad one way or another, and it didn't fucking matter if she hated my guts. She'd fume and hiss with my ring on her finger and PROPERTY OF ROMAN stamped in her soft skin forever.
I'd make her learn to love this life, even if she hated my evil ass 'til the end of time. I'd bring up my boy and bring her into line, true love be damned.
* * * *
Early the third morning, the door to Rabid's place swung wide open and smashed against the wall. I bolted up, reaching for my nine millimeter. I lost the urge to shoot as soon as I saw it was the Veep, but he was heading toward me with a fury like no other.
“You fucking asshole.” I got on my feet before he crashed into me, locking his strong hands around my throat.
He was pretty powerful for a boy several years younger than me, and not as well built
, but my neck was still too thick for him. He caught me by surprise and I choked, then began pulling at the vise-like fingers digging into my neck, trying to squeeze me out cold.
“Veep? What the fuck!” I snarled.
Rabid burst into the room, Christa looking nervously behind him, over his shoulder. “Jesus Christ, somebody's gonna get killed. What the hell's he done to deserve this shit?”
“You knew about the kid too, didn't you?” Brass roared, momentarily flipping his hell filled eyes to his best friend. “His goddamned kid, cooped up with the girl in our cocksucking motherfucking clubhouse!”
Rabid's fingers pinched tighter. So rough they really had a chance at choking me out if I let him. 'Course, I moved my fists down his wrists, ready to snap his hands and take him outta riding commission for a few weeks if he tried.
Let fucking go, VP. Don't make me do it.
Those two thoughts thundered in my head over and over, and the oxygen deprivation blurred whatever the hell the two men were saying. Then, in one last savage rush, he let me go, shoving me against the wall.
“The Prez warned us about having civilians floating around the clubhouse, and you go and drag your big, dirty secret in while we're in the middle of a war!” Brass' stiff finger shot out like a dagger, aimed at my chest. “I knew you were hiding something all these months. It's always the strong, silent types who fuck us over with their drama. Hell, did you walk out on her when she came crying for you at the bar? Is that why you're treating her like she's a fucking dog?”
Fire brushed my veins liked sandpaper. The asshole roaring in my face didn't have a damned clue about anything.
It took every ounce of willpower inside me not to grab the Veep, hold his head in one hand, and bounce my fist off his face 'til he was nothing but a bloody mess.
“I didn't know 'til a couple days ago. She fucking hid it from me the whole time I was in the pen, tried to keep my son under wraps...” I was about to open up on his ass, lay into him for practically accusing me of fucking over the club.
But Christa was still staring outta their bedroom, the scars on her cheeks mirroring the pleading look in her eyes. Guys, get it together. Don't wreck the house. Please.
“Whoa, Jesus, guys. Calm the fuck down! One at a time.” Rabid took one look at his nervous old lady and stepped between us, spreading his arms wide to keep us separated. “If you start throwing punches, I'm pulling you both outside. This is my house.”
“Fine. Here's the way it's gonna happen,” Brass said, staring through my soul. “You're gonna get your new baggage moved into a real apartment by the end of the day, and then you're making a decision about how the fuck you're handling this without making it a problem for the club.”
“Already did,” I growled. “I'm not the fucking idiot you think I am. I'll need a day to talk shit out, get my brand on Sally. The apartment thing'll happen later this week. Not today.”
Brass flashed me a wicked smile. Rabid reached around his neck just in time, pulling him back before he could jump me.
Grim satisfaction thudded in my heart. It was weird and twisted watching the two blood brothers fighting over me.
They weren't really related, of course, but Rabid and Brass were tight. Still, the boy who owned this place owed me for backing him over Christa's dust up with the assholes up in the Klamath charter, the same situation that led to her wearing his brand.
Shit, speaking of the chick...it was Christa's turn to get between us. The guys stopped fighting as soon as they saw her in the way, and she shot us all a stone cold glare that could've brought an early winter.
“I'll watch your kid, Roman. Take care of your business. We don't need to fight over this.” Rabid looked at her, shook his head, and then shot me an evil look. Probably pissed that his girl was sticking her neck out.
“Baby, you don't gotta get your pretty head in the middle of –“
“Nonsense,” the redhead said, a sweet smile vanishing the scars on her cheeks. “I've got plenty of time in my tutoring schedule before the new bar opens up in town. Just tell me where you need me.”
I thought for a minute, then nodded. Having Caleb in her hands was second best to Missy or Jackie, and as much as the little prince was growing on me, having him outta the way for a few hours would let me take care of business.
I told her to come by the clubhouse with me in a couple hours. She walked off to the kitchen, humming to herself, while Rabid slumped down in the nearest chair, running a hand over his tired face.
“Fuck. One day, this club'll get a moment's peace...one day.”
Not while we're fighting the cartel, and disgruntled charters keep trying to pin our hands behind our backs, I thought. The club's predicaments had shitty odds, but we'd been dealing with those from the very beginning, and no man standing here was stopping now.
“We'll get there someday, Rabid,” Brass said, turning his eyes to me. They were a little less pissed than before. “You get your shit together, brother. Looking after an old lady and a kid's no fucking joke. You've got a lot of explaining to do.”
“I already told you everything I know. Soon as I found out, I took action, the only thing any of us would do if they found out some bitch was hiding a kid. Excuse me if I've been too fucking busy, running my ass off, to fill everybody in on every damned detail.”
“We're cool as far as I'm concerned.” Brass paused, an arrogant smile tugging at his lips. “It's the Prez you're gonna have to explain this shit to.”
Without another word, the Veep slapped his buddy on the shoulder, then spun around and walked out. A minute later, we heard his motorcycle rumbling to life outside, and then fading away.
Rabid gave me a sympathetic look, and I turned my back.
Fuck it. I didn't need anybody's good karma to protect this fucked up family I didn't know I had 'til I walked into the farmhouse.
I'd find a way to lock shit down and clean up nice, even if it meant I'd have to walk through miles of hell to get there.
* * * *
Blackjack's face tightened. The old buzzard slicked his long gray hair back the longer I talked in his office, telling him all about how I lost my shit and decided to make a move the second I got upstairs, after I'd thrown Beam off her.
“Christ, son. What's it going to take for you to grow a brain?” Blackjack growled, soon as I was finished.
“Everybody getting outta my way so I can handle my own shit, for starters. I don't need the club's help on this. It's my problem, Prez.”
“Bullshit.” Blackjack stood, clenching his lip white as the old bullet wound in his leg burned. “We're the only family you've got. Unless maybe you introduced your new woman and boy to your mother before us?”
Fuck. Ma.
I hadn't said shit. I could barely imagine how I'd break the news to her.
Blackjack nodded, satisfied and right. Like he always was.
How the fuck did he do it? Was it just age that gave him some eerie way to read a bastard's mind?
“I'll leave that up to you. What I can't take a hands off approach with is this clubhouse, and every inch of territory we control outside it. I'm disappointed, son. You could've brought this to me right away, before you decided to pack them up in your room.”
I threw up my hands. “Fuck, Prez, I told you. I'm working on it. There wasn't time for –“
“Bullshit!” His fist hit the desk so hard I suppressed a jump. “There's always time to do your job and report things you know damned well I need to know about.”
Fucker had me by the balls. I looked at him, flexed my fists, and nodded. “You're right.”
“It's not about being right. It's about making everything crystal fucking clear while the stakes are higher than ever for this club, including everyone who's tied in with a full patch member. Here's what's going to happen.”
Shit. Who the fuck had I pissed off to have everybody in the world aiming those words at me?
I blinked. At first, I thought I'd zoned out, missed something th
e Prez said, but he'd paused. Too deep in thought to continue lecturing my sorry ass.
“No. Giving it to you point by point won't work. Some things, you've got to figure out for yourself, son. It's your turn.” He flattened both hands on the desk, using it as leverage to lean over, staring at me like a hungry vulture. “You tell me – how're you going to fix this for the club?”
“I'll have 'em moved out by the end of the day. Rabid's old lady is gonna play babysitter, so that'll help.” Fuck, the look on the Prez's face wasn't impressed. “All right, you really wanna know, Blackjack?”
I stood up 'til I towered over him, turning the tables. I respected the Prez, but his question cut deep, and if he really wanted to fucking know, I'd ram those answers straight down his throat.
“I'll sew this shit up tight, same way I would've done years ago if I'd known there was a kid in the picture. I'll claim her. Brand her. Marry her. Move her the fuck in and make her a proper wife, a good old lady. She's mine, dammit, and that makes her my damned problem too.”
“You think it's going to be easy?” Blackjack whispered.
“Fuck, no. It's gonna be like crawling over broken glass. Shit, I'll be lucky if I'm not going half as gray as you after a year or two. But I'm gonna make it work. I fucking gotta. You know my old man died defending this club.”
“That's right,” Blackjack said. “Wheeler died defending his family. Both of them.”
“And I'd do the same thing in half a fucking heartbeat. I'll die for this club, die for my kid, die for her – even after she's fucked me over hard. I'm a man, Prez, and she's my woman, right or wrong. I don't give a shit if she doesn't love me. I'll make her. I don't know a damned thing about raising kids, but I'll learn. I'm gonna do this right, and nobody's gonna stop me. Not even the club.”
He cocked his head, as if my little challenged amused him. “I'm not the enemy, son, and you know it. You've got my support.”
He reached for the ashtray across the desk, a huge silver tray with our roaring bear stamped inside it. I started to relax, only a little. Had I actually passed his bullshit test?
