Billionaire Biker's Secret Baby_A Bad Boy Romantic Suspense

by Weston Parker

  The miles pass and I try not to drown in the tide of anxiety that tries to cover me. Ax is hurt. He’s lying in a hospital bed, and Lord knows what’s happened to his body. Ax is strong, and if anyone could survive a smash-up, it’s him, but those thoughts bring me little comfort. I find myself biting my nails like I used to in high school when I suspected a pop quiz was in my future.

  Will he be happy to see me? I think, remembering the look of hurt he flashed last night. I just told him it would be better if he left town, thinking a clean break best, but here I am, the next day, rushing to his hospital bed. It’s beginning to seem like I’ll never get over Ax Craven.

  I’m certainly not over him now. Never have been.

  Never will be?

  The limo finally glides to a stop in front of the county hospital, and I’m out of the car and halfway to the door before Leigh steps out. “Hang on, girl,” she hollers. “It’s not easy to balance on these damn heels.”

  Impatience hounds me as I pause to wait for the trophy spouse to catch up. Together we head through the revolving door and to the information desk. A woman older than Methuselah’s grandmother sits behind a computer and gives us a friendly smile. I give her Ax’s name, and she peers through her bifocals, pecking at the keys.

  I’m about to jump the counter to grab her keyboard and do the typing myself when I feel Leigh’s hand wrap around my arm. “Someone’s jumpy,” she says, and I bite back a retort. She’s clearly not that concerned about her stepson’s health, I think, but she did give me a ride to the hospital. I decide to chill and take several deep breaths while the old woman finishes finding the right keys.

  As soon as I hear the room number I’m jogging to the elevator, Leigh and her designer heels be damned. She catches up before the elevator doors close, and we creep upward. In my head, I curse the damn thing. Why do elevators in short buildings always take the longest to arrive at their destination?

  The doors creak open, and I haul ass down the corridor to the correct room. But before I reach the door, I stop in my tracks, suddenly terrified. What if something truly horrible has happened? What if he can’t walk? What if he’s lost a limb? What if something’s disfigured his perfect form? Or worse, what if he’s suffered a head injury?

  Leigh passes me and pushes open the door, calling out a greeting and stating that he has visitors. I close my eyes and force myself to take a deep breath, then I step forward and into Ax’s hospital room.

  My heart stops when I see him in the bed. He’s almost too large for his surroundings, but too much is covered in white. Ax is wrapped in bandages. Around his head. His arms. The legs that stick out from beneath the white sheet. His face holds an expression that could be described best as “ornery.”

  “Hi,” I say, my voice coming out as a whisper, so I repeat myself, forcing a little volume and confidence I don’t feel into my voice. “How are you doing?”

  His gaze locks onto mine, and I feel relieved. Despite the bandages, I can tell from looking into his golden eyes that he’s clear-headed and mentally unimpaired. I breathe a little easier.

  “I’m—not bad,” he says, and I can tell he wants to say something else.

  “But not great either?” Leigh chimes, settling herself into the chair next to his bedside. “Anything broken beyond repair?”

  Ax gives her a wry grin. “Nothing permanently destroyed,” he says, and my relief doubles. “Some stitches, some bandages, and I’ll be my old self again.”

  “What a shame,” I croak, fighting back tears. I can barely admit to myself how frightened I was, afraid that he’d be changed forever, or worse.

  Ax gives a soundless laugh. “Couldn’t agree more.”

  “If you’re so unharmed, Superman,” Leigh says, “then why did they keep you overnight?”

  “Internal bleeding,” comes a voice from the hallway. I turn to the round woman in scrubs in the doorway. The nurse bustles in and starts poking at Ax. “We wanted to make sure there were no internal injuries before we sent him home. But the doctor has slated him for discharge, and they’re working up the paperwork as we speak.”

  She finishes her final check, removing Ax’s IV and giving instructions for further treatment. “Thank you,” I say heavily, putting a hand on her arm.

  She nods and gives my hand a pat, then leaves the room. “Good timing,” Leigh says. “Looks like we can give you a lift home.”

  When they try to force Ax to ride down to the hospital door in a wheelchair, he just stares at the attendant until the guy wanders off, muttering to himself. He has a slight limp as we head down to the parking lot, but I have every confidence in his recovery.

  When we’re safely ensconced in the limo, Leigh asks him what happened.

  “I was driving home on a wet country road, and an SUV came around the corner without its lights on. The asshole obviously didn’t see me and ended up running me off the road. I don’t know if he ever saw me, because he sure didn’t bother to stop.”

  “So it was an accident,” Leigh says, her tone disinterested. She pulls out her phone and starts to type, her attention span exhausted.

  “What kind of SUV was it?” I ask quietly. “Was it someone you recognized?” In a small town like ours, you often know who drives what.

  Ax shook his head, then grimaced, still sore. “No. And it was too dark to see who was behind the wheel or catch the license plate. One second I was on the road, and the next I was off it, tumbling down into the dirt.”

  I frowned. “A dark SUV. Tonya mentioned a group of guys renting the old Hampstead house. Three guys, from out of town I guess.”

  I see Ax’s eyes narrow. “Strangers. Have you noticed any other strangers around town lately?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. That’s why I remembered these guys.” Strangers in Cape Craven tend to stick out. “I figured maybe they were headed to work at Craven Industries.”

  “Maybe they are,” Ax says, his tone rough. It seems to me that his words have a meaning I don’t fully understand. Could the strangers have been the ones driving the SUV? Maybe they were unfamiliar with the area, unfamiliar with driving on wet roads at night.

  I consider asking Ax what he means, but I hesitate. Leigh looks to be ignoring us as she scrolls through her phone, but that doesn’t mean she can’t hear us. For some reason, it doesn’t feel right to probe deeper when Leigh is here. I don’t know why, but the feeling keeps me silent.

  When we get back to Cape Craven, I have Leigh ask the driver to drop me off at my house, since my car is still kaput. Before I climb out of the limo, I ask Ax if he needs anything.

  His eyes are full of unspoken emotion, and I remember how we left things the other night. “I’ll be fine.”

  I nod, then climb out, heading down the walk. I see Lex’s face pressed to the window, her eyes ogling at the limo pulling out of the drive.

  Maybe she’ll talk to me now, I think, since I merit a limo ride. My daughter has returned to her silent treatment of me after the bullying incident. I can’t really blame her. I am an asshole.

  With one more deep breath, I let myself into the house.

  31

  Ax

  I manage to drag Delilah out of the mud with the help of a tow truck’s winch, and we get the poor girl back to my cabin. She’s lying on the floor of my shed like a patient on the table, ready to be doctored up. I run my hand along the chassis, lamenting that the lovely lady is on life support.

  I talk to Jim on the phone and convince him to bring over the parts and tools I need. Then I spend the next few days recovering from my own wounds as I work to heal Delilah’s.

  The recuperation and repair time allow me to think through the events of the last few days. Before the accident, Sabrina told me to leave town. The next day, she was at my hospital bed, checking up on me. Despite her words, I didn’t doubt that she has feelings for me. I spend the next couple days nurturing that small spark of hope inside me, keeping its tiny flame flickering.

  I also turn over her wo
rds about the SUV and its occupants in my mind. The timing of their arrival is a tad too convenient. My brother gave me an ultimatum, and I ignored it. And the next day I happen to get into an accident with the new kids in town.

  Perhaps I’m paranoid, but I know my brother is out to get me. How big of a leap is it to go from having your brother thrown into jail, to having him run off the road? I suspect he hired folks to try and hurt me when I was on the inside. There’s little chance he’s changed now that I’m a free man.

  I remember my conversation with the pharmacist and the collection of pills I brought him. Chuck reluctantly gave me those pills, asking me to make sure my father took them all. But if Dad is being fed a handful of these pills every day, perhaps more than once a day, they are likely messing him up. Which could explain why he seems to come out of a fog whenever they begin wearing off.

  That means that someone is keeping him doped up. Could Brent’s attack be two-pronged? He keeps my father out of the way through medication so he doesn’t find out that my brother is running Craven Industries into the ground.

  And what about his young wife? Leigh seemed so earnest that day when she shoved me off my dad’s terrace. She was overprotective then, and I thought she was genuinely rattled by my father’s condition. But could she instead be actively working to worsen that condition? The thought turns my blood cold.

  I need more information to untangle these threads. I decide to start with off with the strangers before heading back up to my father’s estate. In the afternoon, Delilah finally purrs into life once more. There are a few dents and dings that will require the attention of a body shop, but for now, she’s well enough to ride again. I decide to do a little recon, to see if I can confirm any of the suspicions currently occupying my mind.

  I drive into town, parking my bike behind the saloon, as much to avoid anyone noticing how she’s been abused as much as to keep her safe from random parking fouls. The Hampstead place is a ten-minute walk, but I keep to alleys and stay out of sight. I know the town well enough, even after being gone for most of a decade. Cape Craven has barely changed.

  The house is an old ranch-style, with peeling white paint and a bedraggled yard. There is no sign of a black SUV, but the garage door is closed so it could be tucked away. I creep forward, relying on my military training to reconnaissance the area. Sliding along the far wall of the garage, I peek in the window.

  The inside is empty, save for the trash cans and the same assortment of odds and ends that you’d find in anyone’s garage. I head around to the back of the house, moving with stealth until I determine if the place is empty.

  The Hampstead backyard aids me in my sneaking. It’s overgrown, the perimeter lined with ragged bushes that haven’t been trimmed in years. There is little risk that any neighbors or passersby would spot me in this mini-jungle.

  The first window I reach shows an empty bedroom. The furniture is sparse, and I notice a suitcase propped in the corner. The next exposes a bathroom, similarly empty, and then I make it to the kitchen. There is a back door, but I duck low and pass it, peeking in the rest of the windows on this side of the house.

  Everything is still and silent. Although I haven’t checked the front of the house, what I can see is enough to convince me the risk of detection is minimal. No one is here. I return to the back door and pull out my military-issued lockpick. I’m able to pop the door open without damaging the lock, and then I’m inside.

  My steps are silent, in case I’m mistaken in my assessment, but the house is too quiet to be occupied. There doesn’t seem to be much here, just a few pieces of furniture that are so worn-down they likely were abandoned by Mrs. Hampstead when she finally offloaded the place.

  Three guys living in a house alone, with barely any possessions to speak of. At least, few that I can see. I poke through the bedrooms, but I find mostly empty closets and dressers. I’m in the furthest of the three bedrooms when I stumble on a hard case tucked under the bed. I drag it out and place it on the bed. There’s a combination lock, but I don’t touch the numbers, pressing the lock opener. It pops open, and I shake my head, blessing the stupidity or laziness that allowed the case owners to neglect to turn the combination numbers after shutting the case.

  My breath catches as I inspect the contents of the case. These aren’t your backward hunters with a couple of beat up rifles. The case is full of high-grade hardware.

  Several handguns with ammo to match. One rifle with scope. Noise suppressors. Night vision goggles. A handful of knives of various sizes. And restraints.

  The sound of tires on the driveway makes my head whip up. I carefully close the case and then slide it back under the bed. As I hear the garage door opening, I step to the window and pray that it isn’t painted shut. It opens after a few moments of encouragement, and I climb through it, dropping to the ground and struggling to close the window behind me. Then I’m ducking across the yard and pressing myself into the overgrown bushes.

  I listen as the garage door closes, and soon there are footsteps outside the house. There is the sound of a door opening and closing. I wait, counting to one hundred before peeking around the backyard. It’s empty, so I creep forward, positioning myself outside the kitchen window, which has the clearest view into the house’s interior.

  At this moment, I long for some of the military tech I abandoned when I quit. Tech not unlike what I found in the hard case. A long-range listening device would come in real handy right now. Instead, I hunker down and try to catch any snippets of conversation I can.

  The guys don’t seem to be big talkers, unfortunately. I listen to footsteps, trying to calculate their closeness to the window. When I don’t hear anyone nearby, I risk a glance through the window.

  I see the back of a tall, dark-haired man. His skin is tanned, and he’s wearing standard-issue blend-in gear: black t-shirt, dark jeans, boots, and sunglasses. I frown, scanning for his companions. I catch one coming around the corner from the bathroom. He’s more muscular than his friend but lacks the swarthy skin. His ginger hair is bright, a matching short beard covering most of his jaw. His outfit is identical to his pal’s.

  Ginger nods at his comrade and moves toward the kitchen, so I duck out of sight.

  “You making dinner?” his gruff voice asks.

  “No. It’s your turn, and you know that. I’m just grabbing a snack.”

  “Why snack when you could make dinner and eat for real?”

  “Because it’s your fucking turn.”

  “You know I’m a lousy cook anyways. You really want to eat hamburger mash again?”

  “Like it’s any worse than MREs.”

  MREs. Meals Ready to Eat. So they are military, or they used to be.

  I hear some things moved around in the kitchen and assume that Mr. Tan has decided to stop complaining and cook dinner. I risk another peek, and both men’s backs are turned as they work at the kitchen counters. A few minutes pass before the conversation resumes.

  “What do you think about the new orders?” This comes from Mr. Tan, who is shoveling hamburger into a pan on the stove.

  Ginger grunts. “Orders are orders.”

  Mr. Tan nods. “And a paycheck is a paycheck. But Luke looked like he wasn’t having it.”

  Ginger turns to his companion. “Luke does what he’s told.”

  The big man with red hair picks up a plate and begins to turn toward me, so I duck low, remaining out of sight. I assume that Luke is the third of their trio, the one who isn’t in the kitchen.

  I hear the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. Ginger must be seating himself at the table.

  Then it’s Mr. Tan’s voice again. “Too bad the guy didn’t bite it last time. We could be home by now, instead of this podunk town. And they won’t even let us go out, have a good time. Talk to any of the local talent. I saw a girl in front of the general store the other day with an ass that I wanted to be friends with.”

  Ginger grunts again. “We lay low and don’t arouse suspicion.
Strangers stick out in a town like this. So we do our best to stay under the radar.”

  “This job fucking sucks. I say we grab the target ASAP and get the fuck out of here.”

  I hear footsteps, but I don’t risk going up for another look. There’s a clear view of my window from the table where Ginger sits.

  “Hey, Luke. Have a seat. Dinner will be ready soon.”

  “Doesn’t he sound domestic,” Ginger says, then punctuates his remark with a bark of laughter.

  “Shut the fuck up, man,” his tanned companion retorts. “I didn’t make fun of you when you made lasagna the other night.”

  “That’s because your mouth was full,” Ginger replies.

  I listen for the scrape of a chair but don’t hear it. I wonder what Luke looks like, and what position he’s taken. Then I hear his voice.

  “I’m not doing it.”

  I hear a clatter, maybe silverware against a plate.

  “We follow orders,” Ginger says, his voice gruff.

  “Not bullshit orders.”

  “Yes, we do if we want to get paid.”

  “The money isn’t worth it.”

  “We’re talking big money,” Mr. Tan says. “And we know you need it.”

  There is a silence, then the sound of footsteps moving away.

  “Well, that went well,” the tanned one says, his tone sarcastic.

  “Give me some of that hash,” Ginger says.

  “You just ate two sandwiches!”

  “My mother says I’m a growing boy.”

  “You probably ate your mother,” Mr. Tan grumbles, and I hear the sound of a utensil against the pan.

  Since they’re settling in to eat in front of my window, I decide to sneak along the side of the house to try and catch sight of the third one. I finally find him in the last room. He’s got the empty closet open and is using the bar to do pull-ups. They’re quick and efficient, and the man is lean but corded with muscle.

  His blond hair is cut short, close to his skull, and he’s got a tattoo across his back. It’s of a wolf with dripping fangs, the words “Wolf Pack” in stylized letters surrounding it. He drops from the bar and begins to turn, so I duck again, deciding I’ve got the information I need.