BIKER DADDY: The Chain Gang MC

by St. Rose, Claire

  Miad gathered up the spit and blood in his mouth and spewed it at Micah. Micah stumbled back, and the hood of the car erupted in flames. “No,” he groaned. He tried to fight through the fire to get to Miad, but the flames licked at his suit jacket. Micah ripped off the jacket before he was burned any further. Miad started to cry out in pain. The flames leapt higher as something in the engine popped loudly, and Micah jogged away from the inferno, snatching Zoya in his arms so he could cover her ears and shield her eyes.

  She screamed out in agony along with her brother—though Micah tried to protect her. Even as the police arrived and then the firetruck and ambulance and the crowd dispersed, she cried. Micah drove her to the hospital, knowing there was no way Miad would make it.

  Everything else happened in a blur. She called her parents from the hospital phone as Micah stood next to her, lending whatever support he could in the darkness that was the day her brother died. “He was trying to run a motorcyclist off the road,” she sobbed into the payphone. “The Camaro crashed, Baba. He thought it was Micah, but it wasn’t. He wouldn’t let us help him. Micah tried!”

  When the Raos got to the emergency room and found her sitting, staring blankly at the floor like she was all cried out, Musa Rao sank to his knees with a loud wail that echoed through the emergency room. Zoya grabbed her mother before Taba could collapse. Micah tried to approach. He couldn’t watch Zoya and her family suffer. But Zoya looked up at him dully, eyes vacant. She shook her head. Her brother was dead. “You have to leave,” she told him.

  CHAPTER 27 “It wasn’t your fault,” Callie said again.

  “I should have done something,” Zoya sobbed.

  “What could you have done? You said Micah tried to get him down,” she stopped herself before going on and saying more that might upset Zoya in this fragile time.

  Zoya had moved back into the apartment the day after the car accident, and her parents had let her. They couldn’t stand the sight of her. Taba and Musa were convinced that had she never gotten involved with Micah, Miad would still be around, and perhaps that was true. Zoya couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

  Micah had called over and over, and she hadn’t answered any of the calls. She didn’t know what to say to him. She didn’t know what would become of her life, her future, now that everything had happened. She spent the next few days trying to assist her family with funeral preparations. Though they were upset with her, they didn’t excommunicate her completely. Still, the relationship was stiff and formal. Musa barely spoke to her at all. Taba was curt and short with her. Neither of them seemed to understand that she hurt as much as they hurt.

  When Micah showed up at her door the day of the funeral, Zoya was stunned and saddened, but she let him into the apartment with a wan smile. He took her into his arms and held her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry all of this happened.”

  Callie stepped out of her bedroom with a sheepish apology. She was the one who had called Micah over. “I had to let him know it was today.”

  Zoya nodded. “It’s okay, friend. I needed him.”

  Micah hugged her closer. “Do you want me to go with you to the funeral? I’ll understand if you don’t. I just don’t want you to be alone,” he murmured against Zoya’s black hijab. She looked beautiful in a long, filmy black dress that tastefully showed off her curves but modestly covered her. He pulled back to stare into her eyes.

  “I want you to be there,” she whispered. He swiped away a falling tear from her cheek. She leaned into his palm. The love she felt for him was like a stabilizing rod that strengthened her. His presence was a kind of cure for the depression and sadness lingering like a malaise in her system over the death of her brother. She knew her parents wouldn’t be happy to see him, and she knew they would be less than pleased to see her. If Micah didn’t go to the funeral with her, there would be no one for her to lean on. Callie couldn’t make it. She had to work.

  Micah was already dressed in an attractive black suit. She buried her nose against his chest and inhaled his woody scent, finally feeling at peace.

  They took her car to the funeral. The minute her mother saw her, Taba got Musa’s attention, and he glowered. He marched over to the couple climbing out of the Fiat and spat one word. “Go.”

  Zoya looked up in stunned disbelief. “Baba, I’m here for Miad.”

  “You choose to be with this man after what he’s done to us? He’s the reason your brother isn’t with us anymore, and you bring him here? I say, go. You’ve chosen, so be it. You are no longer a part of this family Zoya Rao.”

  Micah stepped between them. “No, Mr. Rao. I’ll leave. I only intended to pay my respects. You don’t have to send Zoya away from the funeral on my account. I apologize for intruding.”

  Musa pushed him back. “This isn’t about a funeral,” he growled. Taba grabbed at her husband’s arm, but he gently pushed her away. “This is about Zoya giving up her values and her morals to be with you. If she stays with you, we will disown her. That’s final.”

  Micah looked at Zoya in alarm. She was trembling with embarrassment and anger. There were guests filing into the funeral, which hadn’t yet started. Passers-by were watching the tense discussion—though the conversation was too quiet for anyone else to hear. Still, it was appalling to think that her parents would choose this day of all days to make such an announcement. He put his hand to Zoya’s lower back. He thought about the plans they had made for a future together. He thought about how tempting it was to whisk her away from the conflict and show her he could make her happy, but he could never ask her to choose between him and her family. It wasn’t fair.

  “It’s okay, Zoya,” he murmured sadly. He was willing to give up the dream of marriage to keep her family intact. Taba and Musa were her last remaining links now that Miad was gone. Perhaps at some point in the future, there might be a chance for Micah and Zoya to be happy together, but he had to walk away now. “I’ll get back home. You need to be with your family.”

  He pulled away from her, intending to walk up the block and hail a cab, but Zoya grabbed him by the wrist and halted him. “No,” she replied firmly. She turned back to her parents. “Maman, Baba, I love you both. I respect you both. But, I love this man. I could’ve accepted your edict he not come to the funeral. However, I won’t accept cutting Micah out of my life completely. If that makes you feel I am choosing him over you, then you’re wrong. I choose to keep and love all of you. It is you who choose to cast me out for that love.”

  “It’s final,” Musa replied resolutely. “We disown you.”

  Zoya inhaled shakily, realizing this was truly it. “Goodbye, Maman. Goodbye, Baba. Let’s go, Micah.”

  Micah was amazed by her bravery and resilience. He wordlessly walked around the car and opened the passenger door for Zoya, and he climbed in the driver’s seat. He cranked the ignition and paused. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  He pulled away from the curb and eased into traffic, feeling bittersweet. “I’m lucky to have you,” he murmured. “I love you. Just know that I don’t want you to sever ties with your family on my behalf, and I’ll do everything in my power to help them to eventually come around.”

  She looked him in the eyes. “I know, Micah. I love you, too. Like I said, I didn’t choose you over them. I chose to love unconditionally, and they did not. I pray someday my parents come around. But, if they don’t…I’ll love them regardless. It’s time for me to have a life of my own now. I want to live that life with you. So, in answer to the question you asked me weeks ago, the answer is yes. I want to marry you, Micah Whitfield. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. We were made for each other.”

  EPILOGUE “Callie’s on the way to babysit the kids,” Micah replied in a hurry. He breezed into the kitchen where Zoya was preparing an early dinner and kissed his wife’s lips, lingering with a smile at the familiar feel of her mouth against his. Micah closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Mmm, smells good. You almost
done in here? If we hurry, we can squeeze in a quickie while the twins are asleep before she arrives.”

  “But, if we wait, we can have something to look forward to for the date we have planned this evening,” she said with a waggle of her eyebrows.

  “Better suggestion—how about we do both?” He grinned as he backed out of the kitchen.

  “I like that idea, too,” she called after him. “Maybe we can grow some tentacles while we’re at it so we can really multi-task! Cook, clean, make love.”

  He laughed out loud and darted through the house picking up the kids’ things to get the place in order before the date. The normally neat and orderly living room was covered with toys for Aytan and Zhaleh, their three-year-old twins. Micah and Zoya had spent the first day of their vacations from work having a play-day with them, and there were books strewn across the couch. In the middle of the room Aytan’s model train set looped around Zhaleh’s dollhouse, and army men were conferring with stuffed animals around the coffee table. The three year olds had had a blast, but Micah had finally gotten them to take a nap, and now he was in a rush to put the place back together before Callie arrived.

  He smiled in excitement at the prospect of getting out of the house. The couple had been married for five years, the last three years of which were spent navigating the oft-times unpredictable waters of being first-time parents to rambunctious, lively twins. Between their kids and their careers, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a chance to take Zoya out. They were overdue for some QT, and Micah had the night mapped out. They’d check in at the hotel and maybe wile away the evening doing grown-up stuff in the room, and then they’d grab a bite to eat from someplace laid back. After that he wanted to take her back to the biker bar where they’d first met.

  Micah hadn’t been to The Punchline in ages. The years of happily wedded bliss had led to a gradual but natural shift of his focus from the motorcycle club to his family, but every now and then he liked to remind Zoya that the mechanical engineer in the business suit, the dad in the jogging pants, was still the leather-clad biker dude with whom she had fallen in love, even if they did drive a minivan now. He grimaced at the thought of that van.

  “So, dinner’s done. I’ve portioned out the kids’ snacks and left them on the countertop for Callie, along with emergency contact numbers and anything else I thought she’ll need. All that’s left is to get dressed. Need some help in here?” Zoya popped into the living room, and Micah marveled at how motherhood and her satisfaction with her life only seemed to make her more beautiful.

  “Looking good, Mrs. Whitfield.”

  “Not too shabby yourself, Mr. Whitfield,” she fired back with a saucy grin. Their eyes collided, and she felt the same jolt, the same thrill that always happened at the sight of the man who had defied the odds and won her heart and her hand. He had taken the brunt of her family’s anger, and she had lost their support completely, but Micah and Zoya had made it through together. She couldn’t picture herself being any happier with anyone else. Javid, the man chosen for her by her parents, flashed unbidden into her thoughts, which made her think about the loss of her brother, whom she had named her son after. Yes, Zoya had sacrificed a lot for the life she now lived, and she valued what had come of the sacrifices—despite the accompanying hardship of being disowned by her family.

  She had her husband, and he loved her dearly. She had her children, the greatest gifts of all. They lived in a spacious new house, and she worked at an expanding clinic as a physician assistant, while Micah still worked as a mechanical engineer. After her decision to marry the biker, her life had taken a dramatic turn for the better. She had finally taken charge of her future. She hadn’t turned her back on her values, and Zhaleh and Aytan were being raised to have the best of both worlds, both cultures.

  “Grab that for me, honey,” Micah directed her to the book he’d dropped. “My hands are full.”

  “Mine, too,” Zoya replied with a grin.

  They collected all the toys, and Zoya stood back to examine her marginally cleaner living room. “How do two little kids make such a big mess?” Micah muttered, juggling an armful of toys. Having kids was a handful.

  “I have no idea, but this’ll have to do,” Zoya judged. “Callie’s their godmother. She knows how they are. She’ll totally understand if everything isn’t in tip top shape when she gets here.” Micah followed Zoya up the stairs to the kids’ room, and they both quietly deposited their bundles of toys into the toy box. Zoya tiptoed to the bookshelf and tucked away the books. When she exited the room where the toddlers were sleeping, she turned to her husband in the hallway with an anticipatory gleam in her eyes. “Tell me we’re taking the motorcycle tonight.”

  “We’re taking it.” She squealed in excitement. Micah chuckled and pulled her into his arms for a more intimate kiss. Zoya squirmed against him, as hungry for his touch as she had been ever since the day they first made love. Micah nipped at her lips. “So, put on your leather pants and say goodbye to the mom jeans tonight. I plan on making you forget you’re a married woman.”

  She giggled and slipped out of his embrace. “Promises, promises.”

  Zoya strolled into their bedroom. She had an outfit laid out on the bed and her bags packed for the night away from the house. They would only stay away the one night because Micah’s mother was coming in town to spend a few days with the family while they were both off work. His mother had accepted her lovingly and unconditionally, and every time Eva came around it made Zoya think of Taba. Her own Maman had turned Micah away without a second thought, not even giving him the chance to show that he was a worthy husband for her daughter.

  Zoya sighed regretfully, listening to Micah draw a bath for them in the master bathroom as she peeled out of her clothes and prepared to take a soothing bath with her husband before her best friend arrived. She lived for these moments when the bustle and hurry of things slowed down for a fraction of a second, and she could just appreciate time alone with him, old troubles be damned. Stepping into the steamy bathroom, Zoya smiled at him. He stared back solemnly. Of all the people in the world, her husband knew her best, knew her well enough to almost seem to read her mind.

  He confirmed that when he asked, “How do think Taba and Musa have been doing?”

  Zoya looked down. Micah beckoned to her from the tub. She climb in and placed her back to his chest as his arms encircled her, and he rested his chin on the crown of her head. “I always wonder that,” she murmured. “I don’t know how they’re doing. I have no way of finding out. They never answer my calls. In fact, I think they changed their number entirely.” She had no idea how her parents were doing. She didn’t even know where they were.

  After Miad’s death, her parents had moved out of the home where Zoya and Miad had grown up. She could only imagine how many memories had replayed like phantoms through the haunted rooms before Taba, probably, had convinced Musa the two of them would be better off packing up and starting over. The fact that Zoya had chosen to be with Micah had resulted in them leaving no new address to her.

  Micah kissed her shoulder and reached for the towel to slowly start bathing her. His warm touch was a balm. His love was salvation and strength, patient and kind. Zoya turned around in his arms and kissed his lips tenderly. His wet fingers trailed down her back as she settled astride his lap in the wide, deep basined whirlpool tub. She felt his erection nudge against her budding lower flower, and desire flared like a spark ready to ignite.

  But, the ringing phone arrested their love making. “It’s probably Callie,” Micah murmured, smiling. He pulled Zoya back for another kiss as the phone chimed again.

  “I better answer,” she giggled.

  She climbed out of the tub and hurried across the master bedroom, dripping water as she went. “Hello?” There was silence…then a sniff. “Who is this?” Zoya asked, her heart pounding for reasons she didn’t want to examine. Something in her knew who was on the phone even before the surprise sound of her mother’s voic
e spilled over the line.

  “Zoya Rao, please,” said Taba.

  “Maman,” Zoya choked on a sob. “Maman, is that you?”

  Taba replied stiffly, “This is Taba Rao. I was calling to…because I…Well, how are you?”

  Zoya sat heavily down on the side of her bed, not knowing what to say, where to start. From the bathroom, she heard water slosh as Micah climbed from the tub, and she looked up at him with tear soaked eyes when he came into the room. He had heard her say, “Maman.” Micah stared at Zoya, amazed at whatever miraculous work had coerced Taba to reach out after all these years, especially just as they were talking about her.

  “I’m well, Maman,” Zoya said, laughing through her tears. “You won’t believe me, but just moments ago I was wondering aloud about you and Baba. You…you stopped taking my calls. I worried. All these years, I worried about you.”