The Four Stages of Loving Dutch Owen

by Debra Kayn

  He held up two fingers. She frowned. His visits were never long enough.

  "Can we do something tomorrow? Just you and me. I don't have to work."

  He looked around the room, leaned closer, and put his lips to her ear. "We'll see, but no promises."

  His warm breath tickled her skin. She shivered and slumped in the chair in disappointment. He probably planned something with one of the women here.

  She hated when he spent time with them.

  A scuffle broke out in the middle of the room. She straightened, peering into the crowd. Skull was known for fighting. Not at home, but at the clubhouse.

  Dutch reached over and planted his palm against her stomach, pressing her back into the chair as his gaze narrowed. A flutter traveled from her lower stomach to between her legs, and she gazed at the tattoos running up his arm before disappearing underneath his leather vest.

  Her muscles tensed as her breathing shallowed. The fight forgotten, she squeezed her thighs together, trying to capture the excitement and keep it to herself.

  Dutch turned to her, pulling her head toward him. Near her ear, he said, "I'm taking you out of here. Stick by my side."

  She nodded, standing. He looped his arm around her shoulders, cocooning her against his side. She swayed, knowing the drinks were making her unsteady. An insatiable desire to glue herself to Dutch and never let go overcame her.

  Once outside, Klew and Oughtsix approached Dutch. He kept her at his side while filling them in on what was happening. While he talked, a gunshot rang out.

  She flinched, grabbing onto him tighter. It wasn't the first time someone's temper exploded until a gun or knife came out—especially at the yearly rally. Two years ago, Tony's dad got shot in the arm. The next day, everyone seemed to think it was funny, but it was scary to see blood everywhere. There was still a stain on the floor by the doorway, and the WAKOM members often stood on the spot and slammed back a shot in remembrance as if it was some great battle like in the history books.

  "God damnit." Klew smacked Oughtsix on the chest. "A hundred dollars it was one of Falcon's men who started the trouble."

  Another shot echoed in the night. Dutch stiffened before he yelled, "Hey, you. Get your ass over here."

  "Don't go back in there." She pushed at Dutch, but he never budged.

  Tony skidded to a stop beside them. "Yeah?"

  "Watch her. Don't let her out of your sight, and for fuck's sake, don't let her go in the clubhouse." Dutch pushed her toward Tony.

  Fear of losing him over something stupid, she wished he'd take her away instead of going inside. Just the two of them. They'd be safe.

  "Dutch, no." She reached for him, but he'd jogged to the door with Klew and Oughtsix.

  She pressed her hand to her forehead. He shouldn't have gone in there.

  "It's probably nothing. An argument or something." Tony lit a cigarette.

  She held out her hand. He grinned and passed her the cigarette. Puffing, she paced outside the clubhouse. If something happened to Dutch, what would she do?

  Tremors swept through her. Her hand shook. She'd never survive without him in her life.

  A crowd burst out of the clubhouse. Tony put his hand on the back of her neck and massaged the tension, only setting her on edge. She wanted Dutch to take care of her.

  "Are you okay?" asked Tony, pulling her to his chest.

  She nodded. Only Alyssa knew how much she loved Dutch. Their relationship was special, and she wouldn't share her feelings with anyone, not even Rachel and Skull.

  A woman walked past her, brushing against her arm. Marla dropped the cigarette and stubbed it out with the toe of her high heel.

  Spotting Dutch, she stepped toward him. The woman cut in front of her and latched onto Dutch. Shocked when Dutch put his hands on the woman's hips, Marla couldn't move.

  She always knew he fooled around with women—what guy wouldn't when there was plenty of them who hung around the clubhouse and catered to the bikers?

  But, she'd never seen Dutch touch someone else. She raised her gaze to his face. He looked straight at her as the woman stretched to kiss him on the neck.

  Marla's breath left her body. A ball of vomit blocked her windpipe and she broke out in a cold sweat.

  The claws of jealousy squeezed her chest, pushing her heart to the pit of her stomach as pure hatred coiled inside her. And in the next second, she was behind the woman, grabbing her hair before she thought of what she was doing.

  The woman screamed, tottering backward. Dutch grabbed her, not Marla, and glared. "What the hell, Marla Marie?"

  The woman struck out, catching Marla on the cheek with the flat of her hand. Infuriated, she slapped out at the pain encompassing her. Dutch belonged to her.

  Chapter 13

  MARLA MARIE DRY-HEAVED in the tall grass outside the clubhouse. Dutch held her hair in case she lost the contents of her stomach. More concerned about the outburst than the sickness—the damn kid guzzled enough alcohol for her stomach to rebel.

  She moaned, staying on her knees. He waited several minutes, and when it seemed as if she had things under control, he picked her up and set her on the hood of a nearby car.

  Then, he opened the door and searched the interior until he found a pack of mints in the console between the seats. He returned to her.

  "Here, suck on one of these. It'll settle your stomach." He handed her the tin.

  "Whose are these?" She looked over her shoulder at the car.

  "Don't know. Don't care." He put his boot up on the bumper in front of her. "Why'd you attack Evie?"

  "Evie?" She curled her upper lip. "More like bitch."

  He held in his amusement. The only thing Evie had going for her was the ability to leave right after he fucked her.

  "You can't go around attacking people."

  Marla Marie's spine stiffened, and she pointed toward the clubhouse. "Then, tell her not to go around touching you."

  "I can touch anyone I want."

  Her eyes rounded before they narrowed. "You never touch me like that."

  "Jesus Christ." He stepped a few feet away. "You can't be saying shit like that."

  "It's true." She pulled her feet up on the hood and hugged her bent knees. "What does that bitch have that I don't?"

  "About ten years," he muttered, exhaling harshly. "You shouldn't be offering yourself to anyone, especially those assholes around here."

  "You act like I'm a baby." She slid off the car, gained her balance, and planted her hands on her hips. "I'm sixteen."

  To him, she was a child. He shook his head. One that had a lot of growing up to do, despite looking like a sex-craved woman in shorts that showed her ass cheeks and wearing a tank that appeared painted on.

  Marla Marie walked up to him and slipped her arms around him. He cupped the back of her head and held her to his chest. He wasn't ready for her to grow up.

  He wasn't ready for another man to touch her.

  He wasn't ready for her to stop depending on him and put all her attention on someone else.

  "I always want you to belong to me." She rubbed her cheek against his chest. "I don't want someone else to have you."

  He closed his eyes. She would never know that from the moment he decided to kidnap her from the fucked-up life she'd led, she already belonged to him.

  Marla Marie was the reason he delayed all his trips to Spokane. Being around her made him want to settle in a house somewhere and bring her home.

  His feelings toward her were anything but parental. They never were.

  There was something about Marla Marie that gave him peace. He wanted to be the one who would never let her down.

  He couldn't take her from Rachel and Skull. They were better parents. They were what she needed.

  Fisting her hair, he pulled her head back. His body thrummed, looking into her eyes. Afraid he'd hurt her if he acted on how he was feeling, his hand shook. She was a little bitty thing, and the violence in him would be too much for her to handle
.

  To see her around those boys, those men, knowing she was ready to start something with them, made him want to kill each of the fuckers. None of them were good enough. Hell, he wasn't good enough.

  But, he refused to step out of her life.

  "Why do you act that way about me?" he whispered.

  "What way?"

  "Like you belong to me."

  "Because it's the only way I know how." She tilted her head. "Don't you want me?"

  "I'll always want you. It's always been you and me, Marla Marie." He raised his other hand and cupped her cheek, strumming the pad of his thumb against her soft cheek. "Just don't let this life make you hard like me. Don't give your soul to the men around here. They won't protect you the way I will. They don't deserve you."

  Her face relaxed, and she nodded. He brushed his knuckles along her jaw, itching to bring her closer, to inhale the sweetness underneath her rebel soul.

  "I'm going to find Rachel. Stay here. Don't wander off." He stepped away.

  She swayed, biting her lip. He strode toward the clubhouse. At her age, he'd been knees down and cock deep in any woman he could find.

  This lifestyle would ruin her.

  It was too late for him. He'd sold his soul to the devil. Marla Marie still stood a chance of making it out with her heart and her mind clear.

  He pushed his way inside the clubhouse. A fight still went on in the middle of the room. The others formed a circle around the edges of those participating, egging them on.

  All the rallies ended up the same. They'd be lucky if someone wasn't killed tonight.

  Spotting Skip, he smacked his MC brother on the back. Skip turned as if to hit him, and Dutch held up his hand.

  "Have you seen Rachel or Skull?" he asked.

  "They were here somewhere before this shit started."

  He walked away, straight through the crowd, making men step back and let him pass. Jogging up the steps leading to the second floor, he peered down, but he still couldn't make out his sister in the crowd. On the landing, he went door to door, looking inside the rooms in his search. Some of the bikers took their party upstairs, needing more privacy, while others fucked out in the open.

  It was always one big fucking orgy the later it got.

  He swung open a door, went to close it at the sight of four people, and stopped. Rachel had her top off and was in the middle of giving Papa—the club's chaplain a blow job. He looked around the room, making out Skull on top of a woman, pounding into her hard on the bed.

  He stepped back, shutting the door. There was no use trying to get Rachel to stop and take Marla Marie home. He could see that his sister and Skull still participated in the parties.

  Heading downstairs, he found Ballistic, the V.P. of the Spokane chapter. "Do me a favor and let Skull know his daughter is with me when you see him."

  "You don't usually take young pussy." Ballistic's overgrown mustache failed to control the sick grin. "She's a wild one. Watch out, or she'll put scars down your back with those fingernails—"

  The knife in Dutch's hand stopped Ballistic from saying any more. He walked him back to the wall, pressing the blade against the man's skin. "If I hear you looking or touching that girl, I'll kill you."

  "Hey...I don't go for the kids." Ballistic hissed as Dutch increased the pressure. "I'm good, man."

  He shoved off Ballistic and headed for the door. Outside, he peered through the dark, making sure Marla Marie had listened to him and stayed where he'd told her. Others had joined her. He slowed his pace, taking in the scene.

  Marla Marie hung on some guy from the club he failed to recognize, probably a prospect or a first year. Whichever patch he wore, he was too old for her.

  Another girl—Alyssa, danced on top of the car, trying to get Marla Marie to come up on the vehicle with her.

  His attention went back to the guy with his hands on Marla Marie and stopped in the field, twenty paces away from them. It dawned on him that the kid was Bridge's boy—he had to be twenty-five or six by now. The reputation that followed him around was that he fucked anything with two legs.

  He fisted his hands. Hadn't he told that fucker to watch her earlier, and now he had Marla Marie hanging off him?

  He strode forward. Alyssa tried to signal Marla Marie, but she was caught up in whatever Bridge's boy said.

  "You've got two hands, boy." He lit a cigarette when everyone in front of him stopped talking. "You've got a half a second to stop touching Marla Marie, or you'll lose both of them."

  Bridge's boy stepped back, raising his hands. Marla, caught off guard, moved with him. The other kids walked away, not wanting to get in trouble.

  "Dutch, this is Tony." She leaned against the front of Tony. "He's one of my friends."

  He knew exactly who the guy was, and it wasn't the first time he'd tried to mess around with Marla Marie. The last time, she ended up grounded, thinking her life was over. And, he'd gone looking for the boy, ready to beat the shit out of him.

  He inhaled on the cigarette. "How's that little boy of yours, Tony? He must be two, three years old now."

  "I don't know—"

  "What's that girl's name that you got knocked up and your daddy paid to send her away?" He exhaled a stream of smoke toward him. "Do you ever see your kid?"

  Marla Marie let go of Tony. "You have a baby?"

  "Nah..." Tony frowned. "I mean, yeah, but—"

  "You left your child?" Marla Marie's nose wrinkled, and she stepped away from Tony and stood beside Dutch. "What an asshole move, dude. You don't leave your own child. Ever."

  "Fuck this, man. I don't need you bitching at me." Tony walked off into the dark.

  Dutch cupped the back of Marla Marie's neck and brought her closer, kissing her forehead. He knew the one thing that riled her more than anything. She feared him leaving like her mother had left her. The scars ran deep inside of her.

  There was no way she'd tolerate someone who doesn't take care of their offspring. She would rebel against everything Rachel and Skull put on her, but she drew a hard line about children being separated from their mother that went decades past her age.

  "Did you know that about Tony, Mar?" asked Alyssa.

  She shook her head. "No."

  "What a deadbeat." Alyssa slid off the car. "Let's go in and see what's happening."

  Marla Marie slipped her fingers into Dutch's hand. "I'm going to stay out here."

  Alyssa glanced at Dutch. "Sure?"

  "Yeah."

  Alyssa stepped closer. "I'm still going to take you home, right?"

  "I'll take her," answered Dutch.

  Alyssa frowned, gave Marla Marie a hug, whispering something he couldn't hear, and then walked off with the other two boys who waited in the shadows. Dutch curled his arm, taking her into the circle of his embrace.

  "Hell of a night." He rested his chin on the top of her head and closed his eyes.

  "It's weird. I was excited to finally be able to do something, except sit at home and go to work."

  "How's work going for you?" He let go of her and motioned with his chin for her to walk with him.

  She caught up to him and grabbed his hand. "It's okay. Mr. Ferguson is nice. He makes the two boys who work in the back lift anything over forty pounds for me—even the dog food."

  "You're too little."

  She laughed. "I can lift forty-pound dog food bags."

  "Yeah?" He reached across his chest and squeezed her bicep. "Huh."

  "My favorite part is when the new rabbits come in." She skipped a step to keep up with him. "Sometimes, I think I want one for a pet since some people keep them in their house."

  "It'll shit all over."

  "No, seriously, they won't. Supposedly, they can go in a litter box like a cat." She paused. "But I never want to have a pet."

  "Why not?"

  "Animals don't live as long as people. No matter how much love and care I give one, it'll leave me when it dies."

  He understood her reasons. She'd lo
st her mom, and since then, nothing was permanent.

  "Besides, having you is better than any pet." She gazed up at him. "You'll never leave me."

  At the edge of the field, he turned. The slight hill gave him an open sight to the clubhouse, and all the motorcycles, cars, and people milling around the building. Bringing Marla Marie in front of him, he pulled her back against his chest and looped his arms around her. Both of them standing on the outside, looking in at a life they lived but would never truly belong to.

  She played with the linked bracelet around his wrist. The peace she always brought him when she wasn't trying to run away, argue, messing with other boys, or getting drunk washed over him.

  He unlatched his bracelet and slipped it on her wrist, working several times to close the clasp with his thick fingers. She held her arm up to look at it, and the piece of jewelry slid almost to her elbow.

  Before he could help her, she slid the chain off and crouched in front of him. When it became clear what she was doing, his balls tightened.

  She'd put the bracelet around her slim ankle.

  Chapter 14

  THE RUMBLE OF A MOTORCYCLE approached the house. Knowing Skull was occupied at the clubhouse tonight, Marla tossed the cheese grater in the sink and ran to the front door. She stepped outside.

  "Marla, shut the door before the flies come in," shouted Rachel.

  She blindly grabbed for the handle and shut the door, then skipped off the step toward Dutch, excited to see him.

  He shot her a grin and got off his Harley. She hurried forward and held out her hand, carrying his duffle for him. "You're really staying tonight?"

  He looped his arm around her shoulders. "Skull's not getting back until morning, so I'll sleep here and leave for the clubhouse early."

  She pretended it was about her, and not because Rachel wouldn't have her husband around to protect her. "I'm making tacos for you."

  Out of all the food a person could eat, Dutch's favorite was tacos. Rachel always made it a point to make them if Dutch showed up on his birthday—or around his birthday.

  Since the ingredients were bought ahead of time, she wanted to do most of the work herself. Plus, it helped her pass the time until Dutch arrived.