“Have you thought of names?” I ask, staring straight forward through the windshield.
Ginger hums and I imagine she’s got that cute little crease in the middle of her forehead that only appears when she’s thinking. “Something classic and pretty,” she offers. That means jackshit to me. So, I wait, sure that she’ll continue. “I was thinking about it yesterday, something like Clementine,” she offers.
I cough. “Peaches, not only no, but fuck no. You are not naming my baby fucking Clementine,” I announce.
She laughs, and I’m glad I didn’t piss her off, but fuck that shit. “I just mean something old like that, not actually Clementine.”
“Thank fuck,” I sigh.
I glance over at her, as I continue down the road. I watch as she takes her phone out. “I’m going to Google baby names. Let’s see if we can get an idea of some names we both don’t completely hate,” she offers.
That’s how the rest of our drive goes. Ginger reads off names from lists and either one, or both of us, veto them. By the time the mall comes into view, we’re no closer to a baby name than we were before we started.
I park the pickup and turn the ignition off. Just sitting in the parking lot of a mall makes my skin crawl, but Ginger needs clothes, and my girl needs—everything.
Jumping out of the front seat, I jog around to her side and help her out of the passenger seat. Slipping my arm around her neck, I tug her against my side as we walk toward the entrance. “Thank you for coming with me, you know you don’t have to do this. I could have waited until my mom came,” she whispers.
I shake my head. “With your three maternity shirts and your three pairs of leggings. Peaches, you need clothes. Your mom can help with all the shit a baby needs, but let your man help with what he can, yeah?”
“Okay,” she breathes before she rests her head against my chest.
Walking into the mall, I ignore the looks of the moms with strollers and screaming kids. They’re all huddled around the germ-infested play area. Ginger doesn’t ignore them though, I glance over at her and she’s glaring daggers at them. I chuckle, my feisty little Georgia peach.
“You know those bitches are just jealous. I’m about two seconds from clawing their gawking eyes out,” she announces.
I bark out a laugh at her words. Leaning over, I press my lips to the top of her head, inhaling her scent. “Seems like I’m not the only one who doesn’t want people staring,” I mutter against the top of her hair.
“Fuck no you’re not,” she states.
We walk around the mall, neither of us in a hurry as we try to find the maternity store. I don’t bother looking at the directory, content to just mosey along with my woman.
Today is about us, about me providing some things that she obviously needs, and about our new baby girl. Hopefully we can get some of the big things she needs, like a crib and shit.
Once we find the maternity store, we walk inside, and I feel a slight bit of panic rush through me. The mannequins are all rounded and pregnant looking, really pregnant looking.
I glance from one pregnant torso and then down to Ginger. She’s obviously pregnant but not heavily, yet. She will be though, right before my eyes and before I realize it.
Holy shit.
“Are you freaking out?” she asks on a whisper.
My eyes drag up to her brown ones and I take a calming breath. “I’m trying not to, but you’re going to be that big soon. It just means that the baby will be here before I even realize it, and I haven’t planned a fucking thing,” I stress.
“We have three months, give or take. We got this, Pres,” she smiles, cupping my jaw with her hand.
I look into her eyes, warm and brown and mine. She’s calm and just her being that way levels me out, too. I’m unable to drag my eyes from hers, content to stand in the middle of this store and just allow her to calm my ass down. I fucking love her, she’s mine, and we got this shit—just like she said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GINGER
I’m exhausted, and not just a little tired, but full-on exhausted. I end up falling asleep on the way home. The backseat of Prescott’s pickup is full of clothes for me, and the baby. We also found her crib bedding.
The back of his pickup bed is full of boxes. Those boxes include a crib, a dresser, and a wardrobe. They’re all a very light grey, almost white but not quite in color. I fell in love with it all when I saw it. It’s feminine but not over the top girlie and fits both Pres and me exactly.
“We’re home, peaches,” Prescott mutters as he turns the ignition off.
It’s dark, well past eight in the evening and we were gone all day long. I’m tired, but I feel good and excited about all of our purchases. Both of us went a little crazy in the baby stores and decided our girl needed one of pretty much everything.
I have a feeling my mom will be annoyed when she sees all of it. She’s more practical, and she’ll tell me how impractical it all was. Honestly, right now? I don’t care. It was worth it to see my husband so excited.
Sleepily, I slide out of the pickup and Prescott tells me to head inside while he gathers everything up to bring in behind me.
I don’t argue.
My bed is calling my name. We stopped and grabbed some fast food on the way home so I’m full, and now I just need sleep.
I make my way upstairs, I’ll worry about all of our purchases and unpacking them all tomorrow. I pull my clothes off as I go, thankful to be out of the too tight leggings and sweater dress.
Flicking the back of my bra, I pull it down my arms, flinging it to the side. Tonight, I’m going to sleep in only panties, I’m too freaking tired to find something more.
Taking the comforter in my hand, I pull it down, along with the sheet and freeze. A small white envelope is lying on my fitted sheet, Aryan Whore, scrawled in black marker, again. I snatch it up, and hurry to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
Sitting down on the toilet seat lid with shaky fingers I pull the flap out and then take the folded piece of paper from the envelope.
Aryan Whore,
Time is ticking.
Tick tock. Watch the clock. Can’t wait to fuck your ass with my cock.
I suck in a breath, trying not to make a noise. I don’t want Prescott to storm in here, in fact, he can’t see this. I quickly put it back in the envelope and search for a place to hide it. I open up the cabinet and see a half-empty tampon box.
Prescott will never venture inside of there, so I stick it in, and close the flap. I want to go back out into the bedroom, but I need to make sure my face doesn’t look as panicked as I feel on the inside.
One glance in the mirror and I know that I can’t just waltz out there. I grip the countertop and stare at myself. My face is as white as a sheet, my eyes wild and wide, and my body is shaking.
Deciding I need a few more minutes to compose myself, I decide to start the shower. Hopefully the warm water will help relax me, and it will buy me some time as well.
I let the steam and warm water wash over me, calm me, or at least as much as it can. I don’t know what to do. The logical part of me is screaming to tell Prescott. I know that he’ll take care of it all by whatever means necessary.
However, I’m still struggling with not allowing this weirdo to win. Fuck him if he thinks calling me a few names and threatening me is going to scare me. I’ve lived through hell and back, not much frightens me anymore.
I feel something flutter inside of me and I look down, realizing it’s my baby kicking me. I smile, placing my hand on my belly to try and feel her from the outside. I’m not scared for me; but I am for this new life. I don’t want anything to happen to her—I won’t let anything happen to her.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I make a decision within myself. The next letter I’ll talk to Prescott about, I promise. Two doesn’t mean anything, nothing at all, and our house doesn’t have an alarm, so anybody could have come in here and left that note. I’ll also talk to him about an ala
rm system.
Turning the water off, I feel really good about my internal dialog and decision making. I don’t know how Prescott will feel, but I need some control in this situation. I know as soon as he finds out he’ll strip all that away, and I won’t blame him one bit. I’m just not ready for that yet.
Wrapping the towel around my body after drying off, I open the bathroom door and smile when I see Prescott lying in bed already. He’s naked, and his eyes are pointed at me. My once exhausted body perks back up to life at the sight of him. I shouldn’t want him, I should be so sleepy that I pass out, and yet...
I climb up his body until my legs straddle his hips. Prescott slides his hands from my knees, up my thighs and wraps them around my ass. “You have a good day, peaches?” he asks, his voice raspy and sexy.
I nod, running my hands up his chest. “It was a great day. Thank you for everything, Pres,” I whisper. Shifting my hips, I groan when I feel his hard cock against my center. All thoughts on that note suddenly drifting away, and my only focus is Prescott.
“Shit, I need to be inside of you, peaches,” he moans, his eyes slowly closing.
I lift up slightly, taking his hard length in my hand and aligning it with my center. Slowly, I sink down, taking all of him inside of me. I let out a sigh when I’m fully seated on top of him. Leaning back, I wrap my fingers around his thighs behind me and I begin to rise and fall on his cock.
My head drops back, and my breath starts to become labored with each shift of my hips. I love it. I love the way he feels inside of me, and the way he makes me feel.
Prescott’s hands travel from my hips to my breasts and he squeezes them before his fingers reach for my nipples. I moan when he tugs on the tightened buds simultaneously. I start to ride him a little faster, and harder, grinding my clit against him with each down stroke.
“C’mon, peaches, come all over my cock,” he murmurs. “You’re so tight and wet, fuck.” His words cause me to jerk. I fuck him just that much more eagerly until I’m slamming down on top of him, all inhibitions completely lost.
It washes over me, consuming me, rushing through me like a freight train—my climax takes over and I can’t stop moving. My hips jerk and roll until my body is completely boneless. I can’t fall against him because of my belly, so I reach forward and wrap my hand around the headboard. Prescott grunts as he fucks me from beneath. Only after a few strokes, he stills as he comes inside of me.
“Shit, I’m taking you shopping every fucking day if this is the reward I get,” he chuckles, reaching around to gently smack my ass.
Dipping my head down, I look into his smug green eyes. “You take me again, and I’ll suck that beautiful cock,” I whisper.
“Tomorrow we shop,” he winks.
I start to laugh, unable to control myself when it turns into giggles. Unfortunately, my laughing causes him to slip from inside of me, so I roll to my side and look over at him. Prescott reaches toward me, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “In all seriousness, you’re happy, peaches?” he asks.
“The happiest,” I whisper as my eyelids grow heavy.
I feel Prescott’s lips touch my temple, and then the bedding is pulled up my body and I drift off to sleep.
SNAKE
I growl as I look at the directions, and then the pieces in front of me. Picking up my phone, I call for reinforcements. “Free,” he grumbles into the phone. He sounds half asleep, and at nine in the morning, he probably is. I’m an early riser, Free, however, is not.
“You know how to read instructions that are obviously not written by regular fucking people, but scientists?” I bark.
“What the fuck?” he asks, completely confused by my question.
I sigh, looking from the millions of pieces in front of me, to the instructions. “Bought the baby’s furniture yesterday and I was trying to get it all set up, that way when my mother-in-law comes I look like a badass,” I admit.
Free laughs. “Oh shit, I’ll bring beer and Motorhead, that fucker can put anything together.” Free ends the call and I grin. Brothers, seriously I don’t know how people survive this life without them. Mine aren’t by blood, but they’re more important than any other men in my life.
“What are you doing?” Ginger’s voice rings out from the doorway.
“Attempting to put this shit together, but Free and Motorhead will be heading this way to help,” I admit with a shrug as I stand up.
I walk over to her, she’s wearing nothing but my t-shirt, and I would venture to guess she’s sans panties as well. When I’m close enough to touch, I slip my hand between her legs and let my fingers dance along her pussy. “Pres,” she gasps.
“Go put some clothes on, peaches. I put all your bags on the floor of the closet. I’ll get you somethin’ to eat too,” I murmur, pressing my mouth against hers. Gliding my fingers over her pussy again, she sighs. “Go on, now, before I throw you down and fuck you right here.”
“I wouldn’t complain,” she breathes against my lips.
“You might if Free and Motorhead walk in and you’re splayed out for all to see,” I grunt.
She giggles and sinks her fingers into my hair. “I would be embarrassed, but you would care more than me,” she quips.
“Damn straight I would. Now take your sexy ass into the bedroom and get dressed,” I growl.
I remove my hand from between her thighs as she takes a step back. I watch her ass beneath my shirt with each step she takes, and I have to squeeze my cock from the outside of my jeans. Christ, my woman is hot as fuck.
Abandoning my project, I head downstairs to make Ginger something to eat. Searching the cabinets, I grab a raisin bagel and her favorite cream cheese from the fridge.
It doesn’t take me long to toast her bagel and add the cheese, then I pour her a glass of milk. I place it on the counter just as a knock sounds on the front door.
I don’t even bother looking through the peephole, instead, wrenching it open. Standing in front of me is my father. A man I haven’t seen in over fifteen years is right here, in my face.
A now Nomad for the Notorious Devils, an ex-sergeant at arms. My jaw goes hard at the sight of him. Abandoned when I needed him, at sixteen years old he just left me. Now he’s back? Now? Fuck him.
I step through the door, not allowing him to step foot inside of the house. “Help you?” I ask, acting as if I don’t recognize him. I couldn’t forget his face, not in a million years, because we could be twins him and me.
“You know who I am, boy,” he grunts, his voice raspy and deep.
Placing my hands on my hips, my fists balled, I lift my chin. “No shit. My question doesn’t change, can I fucking help you?” I grind out.
“You got troubles, heard through the grapevine. I’m here because you need me,” he announces.
I’m unable to stop myself, unable to control myself. I bark out a shout of laughter, right in his fucking face. “Been walking around fifteen years without your fuckin’ ass around, or your help, why the fuck would I need you now?” I ask, tipping my head to the side.
“Lucifer,” he growls. “I know how that fucker’s head works. I’m an asset and I’m trying to help you, your club, and your woman out.”
“The fuck you know about my woman, old man?”
My father crosses his arms over his barrel chest and lifts a brow toward me. “I’m a Nomad for the Devils, son, I ain’t dead. You don’t think I always keep an ear to the ground when it comes to my only child? I know more than you could imagine. I know what they did to her, and I know you’re married and have a baby on the way. I know that you’re like me, and if you ever lose her, you’ll die inside.”
I blink at his words, taken completely aback by them. My mom was taken around the time my dad left. I knew he left because she died, and yet, I still needed him. I could have forgiven him, except he never came back, never tried to make it right—not in fifteen years.
As far as I knew, he’d drank himself to death, I never imagined he was still
part of the Devils, never imagined he kept tabs on me, especially after I took over this chapter.
“Talk to me,” I demand.
He sucks in a deep breath, his eyes sliding behind me and then he shakes his head. “Not in front of present company.”
I turn around and see Ginger standing in the doorway, her eyes focused on my father and nothing else. I hear Free and Motorhead’s bikes pull up, but she doesn’t even flinch. She’s completely focused on my dad.
“Go inside, peaches,” I quietly urge. It’s only then her body jerks, and her eyes meet mine.
“Your dad should come inside,” she whispers.
Everything inside of me tells her to mind her own fucking business, but I haven’t told her much about my dad. I’ve told her that my mom died, a car accident when I was sixteen years old. But as far as my dad goes, I only told her that he was gone, never elaborating. She probably assumed he was dead, which is why she looks fucking freaked right about now.
“Come inside,” I state, my eyes never leaving Ginger’s. Walking past her, I take hold of her hand and tug her toward her breakfast. “Eat, Ginger,” I order gently, against the side of her head.
“Upstairs,” I bark, refusing to look at the old man and instead walking upstairs.
I hear his footsteps, and my men’s as well following behind him. Whatever the fuck is going on, I want to know everything, and I want to know it now. It’s good that Free and Motorhead are here too, because they’ll keep my ass in line. I have a desire to throat punch my old man, and they’ll hold me back.
CHAPTER NINE
GINGER
I watch all four men walk upstairs. I don’t know much about Prescott’s father, only that he lives in the states. I don’t even know what state he lives in. Prescott doesn’t talk about him, and I asked more than once when we first met. He wasn’t even the one to tell me his father lived in the states, Free did.
Laced with Fear (Cash Bar Book 1) Page 9
