by Kay Maree
“Shut it, reject Barbie,” my mom snaps, having entered the fray. “A word of warning Clarissa; before I drag your ass down to Doc Collins office to confirm that you are indeed pregnant, I want you to think very carefully about what your next play is because you can be damn sure I’ll be ordering and paying for a paternity test as soon as it’s safe for the baby to do so,” she says, mirroring my thoughts.
As an old lady of a long-standing club member, Mom knows how better than most how women like Clarrisa operate. They approach the club, offering themselves up to brothers as a way to sink their claws in, hoping to manipulate their way into becoming some poor unsuspecting brother’s old lady. It doesn’t work often, but there have been a few times that I know of that a club whore has managed to elevate her standing, trapping a brother into a relationship by getting knocked up.
“And you, oh stupid, careless, son of mine can follow me,” Mom demands, gesturing for me to follow her into the kitchen.
At this time of day, the kitchen is empty. It’ll be a good few hours before the club girls and hang arounds will be expected to start dinner prep, which gives Mom more than enough time to bust my ass.
With her hands propped on her hips, one foot tapping out a restless beat, Mom spears me with a look that would have a lesser man cupping their junk in fear of castration. “I’m waiting,” is all she says.
It’s at this point you’d think the most obvious place to start would be at the beginning, but that’s where you’d be wrong. There’s so much history between me and Soph, all of which my parents have had first-hand seats to that’s it’s not necessary for us to take a trip down memory lane.
Running a hand down my face, I sigh heavily. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Mom.” And that’s the truth. I have no fucking clue how to explain any of this shit, not when I don’t even understand it myself.
“How about you start by telling me how in the hell you could have been stupid enough to get involved with someone like Clarissa in the first place, let alone impregnate her,” Mom counters. “Children are the greatest gift you will ever receive, Dexter. If what she says is true, if she is in fact pregnant with you child, you have squandered that gift on a woman who is as easily forgotten as the condom you apparently failed to wear.” With a sigh, Mom repeats her earlier question. “With that said, how Dex? How the hello could you have let this happen?”
Again, I hit her with nothing but the God’s honest truth. “A lot of alcohol, poor judgement, and the fact that I didn’t remember until today when she dropped the baby bomb that I’d slept with her more than once. That once being today.”
“Did none of the times I stuffed condoms in your wallet, jeans pockets, glove compartment, and every other available space count for nothing? What about the numerous warnings your father gave you about wrapping before tapping? Does any of that ring a bell because I remember those conversations vividly?” She hisses.
If this conversation weren’t fraught with danger, I’d probably laugh my ass off at my Mom’s colorful recounting of my teenage years, but in all fairness, nothing about this situation screams funny so I keep my humor to myself.
“For Christ’s sake, Ma,” I shudder involuntarily. “I’ve never forgotten to use a condom, and I can fucking assure you, Clarissa isn’t the exception to that rule.”
“Watch your mouth when you’re speaking to my wife, boy,” my dad booms.
Figures. Where Mom is, Dad isn’t far behind her. Why I thought I’d get away with this being a one-parent ass chewing I’ll never know.
“Sorry, Ma,” I apologize immediately.
Shaking her head, she mutters, “We’re going to deal with one issue at a time here, and luckily for you, your lack of respect is way down on the list or I’d render you incapable of fathering any more offspring. Now, if you truly are Captain Responsible when it comes to prophylactics like you say you are, maybe you got lucky and this situation isn’t the catastrophe we’re thinking it is, but merely a desperate woman playing games she has no business playing. Either way, there are tests that can and will be done and we will get to the bottom of this one way or the other. Until then, keep your dick in your pants and the whores out of your bed.”
“Jesus,” Dad chuckles under his breath.
“Hush, you,” Mom chastises, jabbing her finger in his direction. “The time for laughter is when our son finds out the happy news that whatever spawn Satan’s minion is carrying isn’t his, and he fixes everything he just broke in our girl. And in case you’re wondering, that time is not now,” she says resolutely. “Sophie has had enough for one day, so my advice to you Dexter is to think long and hard about what you want from her, because there’s a good chance that if she deigns to hear you out, you’re only going to get one shot at it so you better make it good.”
Her lips to God’s ears.
CHAPTER FOUR
Pyro
The air around me stilled the second I saw her. It was as if my world snapped into focus, everything instantly became clearer and colors more vibrant while at the same time my mind scrambled to make sense of what the hell was happening to me.
She was beautiful. No scratch that; she was stunning. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a haphazard ponytail, her cheeks were flushed from the cold and even in her ratty, way too big for her clothes there was no denying the delectable curves that were hidden beneath.
It took less than a second for me to realize with the same clarity that I’d prospect for my dad’s MC the second I graduated from high school that whoever this girl was she was going to be mine. I didn’t know her name, where she came from or where she was going, but I knew with every fiber of my being that the girl I couldn’t take my eyes of was my game changer.
Thanks to the high school rumor mill it took only minutes before I found out the girl of my dreams name was Sophie Reaves and that she was a transfer student from the other side of town. According to some of the jocks who wouldn’t have the use of their tongues for much longer if they kept drooling over her, Sophie’s mom had a less than stellar reputation, her dad was never in the picture, and she lived over on Rushmore in the trailer park that should have been condemned at least a decade ago.
To me, none of that shit mattered. It was all inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. What I wanted to know was what made her tick. Her likes and dislikes. Was her smile as beautiful as the frown that marred her perfect face? I needed to know if she smelt like sunshine and happiness the way I imagined she did, and if she felt the same invisible connection as me when her gorgeous forest-green eyes met mine across the quad.
It wouldn’t be until a week later that I got Sophie to talk to me for the first time, but fuck me was it worth the wait. That was the day she earned her nickname; Sophie Bell. Her voice was lyrical and sweet, and it sounded as if little bells were tinkling every time she laughed. Call me what you will, but I’m not ashamed to say that shit did something to me. Nor would I apologize to anyone for being a sappy son of a bitch when it came to my girl.
As the weeks rolled into months, I learned one very important thing about Sophie Bell, and that was, she marched to her own beat. She didn’t play games or give the first fuck about being liked or popular. Instead of socializing at lunch, Sophie hit the library and studied. She didn’t go out of her way to make friends or even speak if it wasn’t absolutely necessary, but it wasn’t because she was rude or standoffish, just particular in the company she kept.
Sophie’s nature and glaringly obvious vibes she gave off that warned people to keep their distance were the only reasons I kept myself in the friend zone for so long. And it wasn’t until it was too late - after we’d graduated and I found out she applied to Michigan State and got accepted - that I realized I’d probably lost my one and only chance at telling Sophie how I really felt about her.
The way I figured it, Sophie would go halfway across the country to college, fall in love with some smart, preppy, sweet guy who was everything I wasn’
t, get married, have a few babies, and live happily ever after. It was what she deserved after all. And for the most part, if and when I found out about it, I’d be happy for her. Sure, I’d hate him because he wasn’t me, but I’d find it in my heart to accept it for her.
What neither of us could have known, was that Sophie’s mom, Carrie would get knocked up a little over a year after Sophie left to a drifter she hooked up with and demand her daughter come home or she’d abort her brother or sister.
My heart broke the day I found out my Sophie Bell gave up her dream of going to college to become a kindergarten teacher, but I couldn’t say that I wasn’t over the fucking moon she was coming home.
To say time flew from the moment Sophie hit town again to now is an understatement. Between my duties as a prospect and working for the MC’s construction company, and Sophie finding and working two jobs to support her mother and eventually caring for and raising her baby sister, Lila it never seemed like the right time to profess my feelings for her.
So, for the six years since Sophie’s been home, I’ve done everything in my power to show her through my actions how deeply I care about her but we’ve remained nothing more than friends.
Frustrating, yes. Annoying, definitely. Blue ball inducing, you better fucking believe it. But trust me when I say, I wouldn’t change a damn thing about having Sophie in my life, regardless of the fact she isn’t in it in the capacity I want her to be.
Fast forward to now...
My life sucks dick. Not even good dick. Small, limp, unsatisfying dick.
Not only is there a minute possibility that Clarissa is pregnant with my baby, but I could have just irrevocably fucked up the only thing in my life that makes getting up in the morning worthwhile. And add to that, I don’t have the first fucking clue what to do about it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ghost
Years they’d been doing this shit and I was sick of it. Worst part is, I had a feeling that it would take a force of nature or an act of divine intervention for those two to get their shit together. Not one of the sorry bastards that call themselves men in this club was willing to take the risk of upsetting sweet innocent Sophie or go head to head with Pyro. Why? I don’t have the first fucking clue.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Sophie like a sister. The girl is sweet as sugar and twice as addictive. There’s not a man alive that would want to see her cry, or God forbid be the cause of it. But that doesn’t mean one of her girls shouldn’t have sat her down by now and laid shit out for her. Because straight up, Sophie needs to know exactly the kind of man she’s pining over.
He might be my brother, a man I’ve pledged my life to protect the second I slipped on my patch, but that doesn’t mean I respect Pyro’s life choices. Especially not the ones that involve the women in his life.
Pyro’s a dawg with a capital D. His bedroom at the club’s a revolving door of pussy, and while like any man I like getting it on the regular, Pyro takes that shit to a whole new level. And as fucked in the head as that bitch Clarissa is, she isn’t the worst of them. Not by a long shot.
First, there was Lacy, a certifiable whack-job that should have been locked up at birth to save the unsuspecting men whose lives she’d come to ruin in the future. I’ll admit, I took a look at her huge tits and tiny waist and considered taking her for a spin, but that was before I looked into her eyes and saw the raging helping of crazy she wasn’t adept enough to hide. Hot or not, no bitch is worth worrying about whether you’ll wake up with your dick still attached to your body or not.
Clearly, Pyro didn’t see the same thing when she looked at her, though. He took that crazy for a ride and ended up on a rollercoaster that ended in stalking and tantrums. No thanks. Four months in total it took him to get rid of her for good, and even then it wouldn’t have been possible without a hefty amount of warnings about what’d happen to her - none of which were nice, and all of which included threats of extreme retribution - if she kept clinging to his leg like a dog in heat.
Next came Tabitha. And I’ve gotta give it to her, she did a good job of appearing normal for a spell. At least until she got her hooks into Pyro that is. Fuck knows how, but Tabitha managed to convince not only Pyro but a few of the other brothers that her intentions were honest before her plan-o-psycho came to light.
To cut a long story short, Tabitha was a plant. Not your regular run of the mill cop or three-letter acronym plant either. She was a mole for a rival club of Vengeance's, Devil’s Apostles.
Tabitha’s job was apparently to collect and filter back as much information as she could to Devil’s Apostles; transport routes, meets, vulnerabilities, all in the hopes she’d elevate her position within their club from club whore to old lady. Something very few club whores in the history of MC’s has ever been able to do. And if it weren’t for the stellar hacking job Sly did, she might have succeeded in at least the first part of her task. As it was, Tabitha managed to garner enough information to make the Devil’s Apostles a nuisance but not so much that it interfered with any of our club run businesses.
See, what the psycho with a death wish didn’t know is that Vengeance went legit a decade ago. Shy of the legal weed trade we do, everything else is on the up and up. Mechanic shop, construction company, a couple of bars, strip joints, and a motel on the outskirts of town are what we deal in these days. Guns, coke, and peddling pussy are a thing of the long-distant past.
Sitting down with the President of Devil’s Apostles, Shakes was a formality. One Boss, our Prez did for no other reason than to feel the other man out. We already knew their club was small; they didn’t have the man or firepower to start a war, not that that’s never stopped dickheads on a power trip before.
Thankfully for him, Shakes wasn’t digging for dirt to make a play for Vengeance territory, quite the opposite. Shakes didn’t want to encroach on our turf. Instead, he wanted to avoid bringing down a world of pain on his men whilst still being able to transport his product over the Rockies without disruption. Something that we confirmed easily before letting them off the hook for their treachery.
But back to the point.
While Lacy, Tabitha and most recently, Clarissa have been by far the worst of Pyro’s mistakes, they all share something in common; they look and act nothing like Sophie.
“Ghost,” Fury grunts, sitting down heavily on the vacant stool beside me. “Who would’ve thought that with my looks and his mother’s brains my kid could turn out to be such a fuckin’ idiot?”
Now isn’t that the question of the hour?
Snorting at his accurate description of his son, I swallow the last of my beer. “I gotta hit the road, brother. Boss wants me handling security at Rough Shod tonight. Something about a new bartender who started last night creating a stir.”
“Heard about that,” he nods. “Gorgeous, smart, and way the fuck off-limits for the likes of the assholes who hang out there.”
Interesting.
It’s been a while since I’ve had a taste of something new. Maybe this chick might be just the thing to rectify that for me.
CHAPTER SIX
Ghost
“You seen her yet?” Pyro smirks from his position against the back wall of the bar.
Rough Shod’s darkened interior glows with the light from the neon beer signs and some exposed overhead light bulb, but not much else. This place is a fuckin’ security nightmare if ever I’ve seen one. Dark corners, shadowed alcoves, a hallway with no cameras that leads to a back exit that is a straight shot to the highway does not a good situation make.
Hence the muscle.
Every patched member and prospect alike takes shifts at all of the MC’s watering holes, regardless of the fact we’ve never had so much as a good old fashioned brawl break out. Unlike the other guys, I don’t mind the work. It gives me time to sort through the shit constantly fucking with my head. Not to mention, I’m useless with working with my hands, unless they’re elbows deep in a Harley engine,
which means the construction side of Vengeance’s business is way outside of my wheelhouse.
With a sharp jab to my ribs, Pyro goes on to say, “Good thing she looks like she can take care of herself because that woman is gonna get a fuck ton of unwanted attention in a place like this. Don’t know what Boss or my old man was thinking, hiring someone that good looking.”
Not bothering to spare him a glance, I grunt, “It’s not surprising considering they’ve been short-staffed for months. I’m no genius when it comes to numbers, but with the turnover slowing down around here it makes sense the Prez would hire something pretty to look at. And you know as well as I do that seeing as the tips are nowhere near as good there as they are at Vixen’s,” I state, referring to the strip club Vengeance opened five weeks ago, “it’s almost fuckin’ impossible to find women who don’t mind putting up with bikers and are willing to deal with the other preppy assholes that come in here all for shit pay.”
“Holy shit,” Pyro chuckles. “I think that’s more words than I’ve ever heard you say at once.”
“Laugh it up, dickhead. Seems to me, you’d be better off using all those words you’ve got stored up to get Soph to forgive your stupid ass than wasting them on me,” I smirk, delivering the honesty he knows he deserves.
“You don’t think I get that?” He snaps back. “If the stubborn woman would just answer her fucking phone, I’d be all over that shit. Anyway, I don’t think you’re in any position to be lecturing me on fucking up with women, brother. Don’t you have a wife squirreled away somewhere?”
Motherfucker!
