Outlaw's Baby: Devil's Edge MC

by Naomi West

  It didn’t matter; not a single one of these assholes gave a damn about what I had said. I walked up to the front, grabbed five menus and handed them out to the boys. Not that they needed it; they must have memorized the menus by now. They came in here to bother me every damned day of the week.

  Ignoring their roving eyes and piss-poor pick up lines, I brought them coffees and water, trying to avoid their groping hands. Charlie ordered first, his usual of eggs and bacon and toast. Charlie was the least rude of the five, and I smiled at him. Charlie looked like the kind of guy who drove a Mac truck cross-country for a living with his big, silvery Santa beard. He had watery blue eyes and skin like leather. And he was the best looking of the five. The others always looked dirty, their hair matted with grease and dirt. There were always black lines carved into their hands like they worked on cars for a living. And from the state of them, they wear their work clothes everywhere and never wash them.

  I wanted to gag at the collective scent of oil and body odor that permeated the air around them. But instead I smiled, hoping against hope they would tip well. These men definitely were a little richer than my normal clients, and they occasionally felt “generous” enough to leave more than ten percent. I just had to keep them in a good mood.

  Smiled. Flirted. Hid my wince. Made a joke. Winked suggestively. Made another joke. Kept smiling even though I wanted to gag.

  All was going pretty well; they’d only managed to grab me twice and all five had the glassy-eyed look of contentment on their ugly faces. Until Creed walked in the damned door and ruined it.

  The bells went off at the front of the restaurant, and the little fifteen-year-old hostess was missing again. Probably off trying to bum cigarettes off of the kitchen staff. I rolled my eyes, slipping to the front to grab a handful of menus. My heart flipped over in my chest as soon as I saw who was waiting there.

  I cleared my throat, looking down at the floor so I wouldn’t have to see Creed’s steel-colored eyes. “How many?”

  “Five,” he answered gruffly, the sound of his voice sending shivers from my shoulders down to my toes.

  Grabbing five menus, I brought them over to the booth in the corner. It was the most comfortable of the booths in my section, and the only chairs that weren’t drenched in sunlight. I studied the five men, my eyes widening as I studied them. They all looked much like Creed usually did; leather-clad and gruff, tattooed and tough as nails. I had to swallow hard twice before I could manage to ask, “What would you gentlemen like to drink?”

  “I’ll have a Coke, Ivy,” Creed asked. The other men seemed to defer to him, letting him lead and order first. It was like the pecking order inside of a pack of wolves. There was so much potential, violent energy in the room, I kind of felt a little like a child in a lion’s den.

  Just as I finished taking the bikers’ drink orders, I could hear my regulars shouting from several tables down. “We’re starving, Ivy. Move that pretty ass to get our food now!” Carl snapped.

  I wanted to punch him, hard. But I took a deep breath and smiled instead. “Your food isn’t up yet, Carl. I’ll get it to you as soon as they have a chance to cook it.” I sighed, then looked back down at Creed’s table. But much to my surprise, the five men weren’t looking at me; they were looking down the aisle at Carl and his four too-loud friends. “I’ll be just back with your drinks, gentlemen. Just as soon as I bring the baboons their food.” I smiled at the bikers, and they turned back to me, the tension broken at my little joke.

  Creed was the only one who didn’t chuckle. The only one who kept his eyes locked on the other table of cretins. Not liking the way he was eyeing the other table, I decided to hurry away, aiming for the back counter, where I hoped that Carl and his buddies’ food was ready. It would be nice to have a moment of peace while they had their stupid mouths full of food.

  Luck was with me, because their food was up. I loaded up my shoulder with a big tray and piled on all five of their plates before shuffling over to their table. I handed out all of their food, sliding each dish across the table with a deft flick of my wrist. I almost made it away from their table without incident.

  Until Carl decided to drag me into his lap.

  “Come on, pretty girl. We need some live entertainment while we eat.” I nearly dropped the tray as he swung me around, one hand on my ass and one on my waist as he held me prisoner against his dirty body. I squealed unhappily, nearly twisting my ankle as I tried desperately to stay upright.

  Suddenly, I was being yanked away from Carl, and I nearly crashed into the table behind me. I glanced up just in time to watch Creed, who must have flown from his seat the moment Carl touched me, slam his tattooed fist into Carl’s ugly face. Everything seemed to slow down as blood spurted from Carl’s now-broken nose.

  Then everything erupted into chaos.

  Chapter Eight

  Creed

  I don’t remember getting up from the table or deciding to hit that asshole in the face, but I remember being violently angry. Watching that dude get handsy with Ivy set off every alarm bell in my head. I remember the red film of rage slip over my eyes, blurring the world around me.

  I’m pretty sure I just meant to tell the guy to keep his hands to himself; it’s rude to lord a tip over a waitress’s head just so you can be inappropriate. I didn’t like the way they spoke to her. Seeing them lay hands on her turned my vision red. Although the boys didn’t like it either, none of them seemed as ready to fight as I was.

  I glanced around the diner, standing over the prone body of one of the men. The whole place was trashed from the broken windows to the shattered tables and chairs. Five groaning, bruised men lay scattered around the floor, half lying in or around whatever object my boys had tossed them into.

  Something inside my right shoulder hurt, and I could feel blood slowly trickling down my cheek from a cut across my forehead. Other than that, I was unhurt. My boys looked alright, too, with the exception of Marty, who was limping exaggeratedly.

  We crunched over the broken glass and shattered wood, winding our way to the front of the diner. What was left of it, anyway.

  Ivy stood there, a serene angel in the center of the wreckage, her face displaying no emotion at all as she looked around. Her stained uniform and tousled hair didn’t diminish her beauty, nor did the rigid posture that she always held. Surveying the damage with empty, mocha-colored eyes, Ivy seemed to be frozen to her spot on the floor, unable to move.

  Her eyes continued to crawl along, taking in every inch of the damage until she got to me. Then her eyes got wider as she noticed the little cuts and bruises I’d gotten from the broken glass and the tussle.

  I took a deep breath as she surveyed me, her eyes dark with fear, hoping to say something to make it better. That look in her beautiful eyes filled me with an emotion I couldn’t name and I hated it. I hated her for being able to dredge up these feelings inside my chest. I hated that she looked so frightened.

  I’m not sure what I would have said because I was interrupted by a new adversary.

  “What in the hell have you done to my restaurant?” The voice was huge and deep, filling the whole room. The owner climbed out of his back office, his eyes burning with rage as he saw the damage to his precious business. The man was about six feet tall and thin as a rail, dressed in a suit that was too short in the legs and arms. He looked like someone had pulled him through a taffy machine to stretch him out.

  Before my boys or I could react, the man I presumed to be the owner pointed a too-thin finger at Ivy. “Nevermind, I don’t care. You are fired, and I’m going to sue the shit out of the rest of you. I’m calling the police!” The man continued to scream as he walked back to his office, presumably to find a phone.

  And that was my cue to leave.

  We grabbed everything we’d come in with and hightailed it out of there, heading for our bikes like the devil was at our heels. A rush of adrenaline and a surge of heightened awareness filled my blood, making every detail of the scene
stand out. And the details that stand out the most to me are the distraught lines of Ivy’s beautiful face. Tears slipped down her cheeks, her fingers caught up in her curls. Staring at the destruction around her, Ivy looked like a small child lost in the woods.

  She was fired for this, I thought as I mounted my bike and tore out of the parking lot. It is my fault and I have to fix it.

  My boys and I were gone before the owner had even had a chance to start calling the police, and I knew my first loyalty was to them. But I still felt incredibly guilty for leaving Ivy alone and crying in that busted-up cafe. I sped up, glancing in my mirrors to make sure that all four of my boys were still in line behind me. We cruised down the highway and towards a hiding place where we could lay low. I hid for a couple hours to make sure things were quiet before I finally headed home.

  Considering the number of people in and out of that place and how dirty it was, they’ll never be able to separate out our fingerprints. So as long as the guy can’t finger us, we’ll be home free.

  I should have felt like crowing my victory to the winds, but I couldn’t shake the memory of tears slipping down Ivy’s pretty little cheeks. That vision haunted my every step until I pulled up to my motel.

  By the time I got back to my place, the door to Ivy’s place was closed and locked, and I didn’t hear any noise or see any light spilling from around her poorly-sealed door, but I was still pretty sure she was home. Where else would she have gone? I started to head into my own room but hesitated on the doorstep. I have to do something.

  Huffing into the cold, autumn air, I walked over to Ivy’s door. There was almost nothing to distinguish her door for anyone else’s; her door was at the very end of this hallway. Convenient if you wanted to share as few walls as possible with neighbors, but it must have been drafty as hell. I stopped, staring at the numbers on her door: 328. The “2” was loose, dangling down half in front of the lowest curve of the three.

  After a long second of hesitation, I took a deep breath and knocked. It was cold enough out here that I could see my breath, and I hoped she would answer the door quickly.

  There was no noise on the other side of the door and I growled under my breath. “Ivy,” I growled, my voice unhappy. “Answer the door. I just want to talk.”

  Again, nothing.

  “Ivy,” I warned, my voice a little louder.

  Silence.

  “I will knock down this door.” She had to be home; there was literally nowhere else for her to be. She went to work, to the laundromat maybe, but she had to be in there. I needed to see her face. I needed it like I needed to breathe.

  A mumbling of curses came from the other side of the door. The chain slid out of the lock with a few clicks and a scraping of metal on metal. The bolt slid out of its home in the doorframe, and the handle lock was disengaged with a click. After a breathless, silent second, the door cracked up, displaying the hopeless face of a very broken looking woman. Ivy’s chocolate eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks and face swollen. Her eyes were too wide and trained on my feet. She didn’t even look up when I stepped back a little to give her space.

  “I have nothing left, Creed,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying across the short distance between us. Her voice quivered as she grasped the door with white-knuckled fingers. “I have nothing left for you to ruin. So please leave me in peace.”

  “You can find another job,” I answered, my voice cracking a little. She looked devastated and lost, and I that horrible guilty feeling grew in my chest.

  She shook her head. “I applied for everything in the immediate walking distance and the bus routes that don’t take a million years. Literally everything. Whether I was qualified for it or not. The restaurant was the only one to respond.” Fresh tears slipped down her face as she cradled the door like it was the only solid thing in the world. She still wouldn’t look me in the face. “I’ve looked and called and applied. I have nothing left. I’m just so tired.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “You won’t give up.”

  Fire filled her eyes as her gaze snapped up to me. “What do you know about it?”

  “More than you, apparently. You’ll find something else.” I was so firm because I believed it; Ivy didn’t look like the type to quit. “In the meantime, Josh needs someone to keep track of him. He needs someone he’ll listen to, to make sure he goes to school. Someone who gets him.”

  Ivy wrinkled her pert little nose at me, sending shivers down my spine that had nothing to do with cold. “He has ADHD. He needs specialized classes where they won’t force him to hold still for eight hours a day.” She suddenly looked down at my boots, like she remembered who she was talking to. “I believe,” Ivy finished lamely.

  “See, you know him already. He trusts you and likes you, for whatever reason. I’ll pay you better than you were making at that dump heap. Did those assholes always treat you so bad?”

  She shrugged noncommittally, her oversized sweater slipping off of one shoulder, displaying a long line of beautiful, freckled flesh. My eyes locked onto the long, lean curve of her shoulder, and I wondered what her skin would taste like if I--

  Clearing my throat, I glanced back at her face. “I have the money; the only reason my boy and I are here is to lay low.”

  Ivy said nothing, her eyes locked with the carpet.

  “It would be good for us both.”

  But as my eyes trailed over the long line of her body that I could see through the open door, I began to wonder if it really was good for either of us.

  Chapter Nine

  Ivy

  Don’t look him in the eye. Don’t move quickly or he’ll strike. Don’t even breathe loudly.

  I felt like I was dealing with a wild animal instead of a person. I didn’t want him to think I was challenging his authority in any way. I saw what he and his friends did to the diner; I didn’t want to know what he and his friends could do to my body.

  Shivering, I kept my eyes locked on the carpet at Creed began to list off all of the reasons he’d trust me over anyone to take care of his kid. Josh was a nice kid, with great intelligence, and a strong sense of will and independence. If I was being completely honest with myself, I liked the kid in spite of his deficiencies. He needed discipline and lots of it. But I wasn’t quite sure I was the right one to give it to him. I’d never been around a kid for long, except him. He was going to be more trouble than he was worth.

  Except you have no other possible source of income right now. You have no prospects, no leads. Nothing. Your only job was just shattered by this man standing in front of you.

  And what a frightening man he was. Imposing and filled with the kind of lethal self-confidence that soaked through my panties and left me quivering in a mix of fear and desire. He was beautiful, strong, and he could help me. A bad combination of things when I was already attracted to him.

  Shit. I can’t say yes, but I can’t afford to say no. It was the impossible choice. The unsolvable riddle. Did I throw my lot in with a dangerous criminal who I wanted with every fiber of my being and earn the money I needed to eat, or did I turn him down and starve, get kicked out of the only shelter that would take me, and probably end up in homeless housing before the end of the month?

  There was no other possible solution. I had to take it. “I’ll take it and make it as short term as possible. I’ll find something else. I have to. If he asked me right now, I’d be hard pressed not to let him take me. This is not a good idea,” I thought.

  Sighing, I glanced up for just a second into that hard face. He was watching me like a panther would watch prey. It made me uncomfortable even as it sent pleasant little shivers down to my toes. Crap.

  “Alright then, Creed.”

  Stepping out of my room, I closed my door behind myself. I walked over to Creed’s room, waiting patiently for him to open the door for me.

  With curiosity in those pretty, steel eyes, Creed opened the door, then gestured exaggeratedly for me to go in first. There was a strange s
mile on his lips, and I had to look away before I was drawn in like a moth to the flame.

  Josh was sitting in front of the TV, his little sneakers banging against the floor in time to some imaginary music. I stepped forward with a confidence I didn’t feel and flicked off the TV.

  “Hey!” Josh whined, his eyes snapping to my face. “I was watching that.”

  “I’m sorry, but this is important. I need to talk to you, and I need you to listen.”

  Josh wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve then got to his feet. “Alright, what do you gotta say?”

  “Your father wants me to be your new babysitter. How do you feel about that?”

  My heart twisted a little in my chest as those chocolate eyes of his lit up like a light bulb. “That sounds okay,” he whispered, his feet tapping the carpet with impatience. “Will you teach me more about cooking?”