Road Warriors (Motorcycle Club Romance Collection) (Bad Boy Collections Book 4)

by Faye, Amy

  The panic of before had turned into worry, and then he'd been defensive and upset. It wasn't until he'd finally been able to get her to forgive him and stop being so upset that he felt like he might be able to relax and blow off some of the unpleasantness of the past forty minutes.

  She had it around her neck, he saw, on an inexpensive ball chain. It looked good, hanging down between her breasts, even when there wasn't anything to hang between. Right now the entire thing hung down on a blue turtleneck sweater. It must have been warm, but she didn't look particularly uncomfortable.

  "Nice ring," he offered, hoping to break the ice somehow, to release the tension even further. Some day, they would finally come and tell the two of them, or at least Lara, how things were going with Tim. In the mean time, though, they waited.

  A sinking feeling in his gut told him that things weren't going nearly as well as they should. He should have done something sooner. If only he'd bothered to check his phone when he got out of the studio, maybe he would have been in a position to do something.

  Instead, he hadn't been. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it. There was a lot that he could beat himself up about if he wanted to. Years of the stuff. Every decision he'd ever made was ripe for questioning at this point. But he wasn't going to let that get to him. At least, he hoped he wasn't.

  He pulled out his phone. It was charged, now. At least there was that. He pulled open a news feed and started scrolling through. Headlines about his performance on Rogan were mixed; everything always was, in politics.

  His supporters thought it was a big hit, they loved it, seemed humanizing. The other side thought it made him look weak, and the softball questions made it look like he couldn't handle a real interview. He closed the app before he could take any of it to heart. In the morning, he would probably get a call from one of his people and they'd talk about what they were going to do moving forward.

  The problem was, he thought sourly, that he didn't trust any of them in the first place.

  If he had, then maybe he could try to at least pretend that he cared what they had to say. But instead he was surrounded by two types of people: yes men, who only wanted to get ahead by riding his coattails, and people who didn't have his best interests at heart in the first place. He wasn't sure which he disliked more, but he knew which was less helpful.

  "Hey, you mind if I ask you something?"

  Lara looked over at him with an eyebrow raised like she was surprised that he would even speak to her.

  "What's that?"

  "I just had a little thought."

  "Okay, shoot."

  "How come you never practiced?"

  She raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

  "I told them I met you in law school. That much was true, though I left out some details. I think you'll appreciate that I didn't talk about the specifics of how we met and what sort of trouble we got up to."

  "Yeah I think I'd rather that go un-discussed," Lara agreed. She still had a smile on her face, which was something he liked.

  "But I mean, you finished school, right?"

  "I did, yeah, but that was a long time ago, Paul. Why are you asking?"

  "Did you ever take the Bar?"

  "Yeah, I took it. I mean, of course I did."

  "What happened, then? You're smart, you're capable, you knew your stuff even back then. So what happened?"

  Lara let out a breath and leaned back. She took another bite of her candy bar and then leaned forward.

  "I realized something."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "I realized that I didn't want to."

  Paul's expression must have been quite a sight to behold, because Lara let out a laugh and had to cover her mouth to stop from showing half-chewed candy bar. "What's so funny?"

  "You! You have… like…" Lara took a breath and looked at him with the embers of a smile still smoldering on her face. "You have to promise you won't get offended if I tell you."

  "I can't promise that. You know I'm very sensitive." But he hoped, at least, that the way his eyebrows waggled as he said it told her that he wasn't being serious. "But tell me anyways, and when I get offended I'll pretend it's a surprise."

  "Okay," she answered, rolling her eyes. "Well… I mean, take Helen for example."

  "What about her?"

  "She's just like everyone you've got around you. Everyone's going places. They're climbing the ladder. Fighting to get to the top. Eventually, they'll fight you, too, if you get in their way."

  He didn't say anything, but he wasn't going to get offended by the truth. Not when he already knew as much himself.

  "And?"

  "So as far as you're concerned, it's not your fault you think this way, but… Helen would never give up her career for anything, would she?"

  "No, I suppose she wouldn't."

  "I realized… well, not in so many words, but I gave it some thought and I realized that I didn't want that for myself. I didn't want the big house, didn't want a huge paycheck. You know what I wanted?"

  She looked like she was waiting for a response. "What?"

  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I wanted my son. I wanted to see him every day, smiling, and I wanted to be able to go out with him. I wanted something easy."

  "You weren't like that in law school, though. You seemed pretty ambitious."

  "Can I tell you something else without getting offended?"

  "I don't know, can you?"

  "It was because I met you."

  "Oh, good," he said. It was nice that he had that sort of effect on people. "I'm glad that I can provide such a great negative example."

  "Not you, exactly. But… just… I guess Helen's still my best example. I never saw her litigate, but I bet she was great at it. She's like a dog with a bone, every little thing is another fight that she's got to win or she's… I dunno, something wrong." Lara finished the candy bar and started flattening out the wrapper on her lap. "I could have been like that. Like her. But I didn't want to. I made my choice."

  "And you're happy with it?" Paul tried to hide the second part of that thought. The part that mentioned whether or not he was happy with his own choices, after all these years. He knew the answer to that one without having to think about it.

  Lara's eyes moved away and she didn't answer, because a voice called from the entrance to the lobby. "Miss Beech? The doctor's ready to talk to you."

  26

  Lara walked behind the nurse calmly. There was a great deal to worry about, and if she let herself think about any of it then she was going to be there worrying all day. So instead, she let herself remember that no matter what was going to happen she could at least manage well enough to keep herself under control, and not worry wherever possible.

  That was a comforting thought in its own way, because stuck in Sacramento without any real way home, no way to afford a hotel for another night, and no reason to assume that Paul and his people would stay with her, was going to leave her in a very bad position.

  She fingered the ring around her neck absently. It was still foreign, even after wearing it for most of the day. More than likely it would remain strange to her for a long time. Somehow, it gave her a sense of comfort, even when she tried to remind herself who it was that gave it to her, and what his affection tended to carry with it.

  There was a price for everything in the world, and whatever that price was going to be, she wasn't opposed to paying it. Her only real problem with that was that she didn't know what the price was until it was too late, and sometimes if she knew what it was before then it wouldn't have been worth paying.

  Even still, there was only one price that had ever been far, far too great, and that was the one time that she had known it in advance. Maybe she could have kept her relationship with Paul. Maybe she could be some sort of high-up, important person in the government. Maybe her entire future would already have been set in stone, and she wouldn't have to worry another day in her life.

  There were a grea
t many things that she wasn't sure of. Things she couldn't be sure of. That was a reality that she was prepared to accept. A life without her son, even before he was born, wasn't something that she was prepared to accept. No matter what the cost, she would pay it, as long as it was for Tim.

  She took a deep breath, touched the ring again, held it aloft for a moment and watched the light shine inside the stone. It was so beautiful; as beautiful as anything she had ever had before, and it was all hers. She smiled in spite of the dire circumstances.

  Things would be alright, because she knew the price she was willing to pay, and further, she knew the price she wasn't. Whatever happened she'd make sure that Tim was alright.

  She followed through a door and into an office. That, in itself, was a surprise. Tim ought to have been in an ER stall somewhere, waiting for her, but here she was in an office. One that looked decidedly like a doctor's office.

  "Miss Beech?"

  "Yes? What's going on here?"

  Her heart thumped in her chest. The question repeated in her mind. What was going on here?

  "There's nothing to worry about, ma'am. We just need to ask you a few questions."

  "No, I want to know what's happening with my son. Once you can tell me that, I'll answer whatever questions. But only after. Am I making myself clear?"

  "Timothy's doing absolutely fine."

  "Then why won't you let me see him?"

  The woman looked over behind her, and a noise alerted Lara to a second woman in the room. She stood up and stepped forward, taking a seat beside the one where Lara continued refusing to sit, knowing that the minute that she sat was the minute that they tried to placate her with something.

  There was a very easy way to placate her, and that way was to take her to see her son. Anything else was absolutely unacceptable, and no matter how much they tried to pretty it up, that wasn't going to change.

  "Miss Beech, I'm Tara Young. I'm a social worker working for the state of California."

  Lara raised an eyebrow. "Okay, is there some sort of problem?"

  "I don't know," the woman said, her smile never fading. "Is there?"

  I don't know, Lara wanted to shout in her face. You won't let me see my son; that's certainly a problem, with nothing else. If that were the only thing that Lara had to worry about, then that would have been problem enough to raise hell over.

  "I don't know. I brought my son in with a fever. I've been waiting for over an hour for some sort of news on his condition, and now instead of taking me to see him, or telling me anything at all, I'm sitting in an office speaking to a social worker. Why don't you tell me if everything's alright?"

  "We just received a tip, Miss Beech, that…"

  The woman started rummaging in her papers. Tip? What sort of tip?

  "I don't know what sort of tip you're talking about, but I assure you that I would never do anything that wasn't what was best for my son," Lara said. Her eyes were wide and her skin felt like it was crawling. What the hell kind of ambush was this?

  "We got a tip that you were neglecting your son. That you'd been leaving him for long stretches of the day alone."

  "That's absurd." It was absurd. "He's being taken great care of. I don't know where you're getting your tips, but I want you to know that in this case, they're off the mark."

  "I'm sure that's the case, Miss Beech; that's why we check to make sure, because sometimes people get the wrong impression. Do you live around here?"

  "I live in Salt Lake City. I'm on a… vacation." She still wasn't sure what she was supposed to call this. 'Vacation' wasn't exactly wrong.

  "Vacation?"

  "A friend invited me to take a trip with him. He's got a tutor for Tim, so he won't have to miss school, and we've been going around."

  "That seems like an awfully accommodating friend, Miss Beech."

  "I don't know what to tell you. That's what they offered. My son was very interested in coming. Otherwise, I wouldn't have even left Utah."

  The woman's face pinched. "Alright, then. We'll be in touch. Is your address on file with the hospital?"

  "I filled out all the forms, if that's what you mean."

  "We'll be in touch," the woman repeated. She gave Lara a hard look that she couldn't explain. What the hell had she done to get anything like that called down on her head?

  Lara didn't have to wonder very long. There was one woman that she knew who had a long-standing reputation for this sort of chicanery. Lara's throat went dry.

  "Do you know anything about who called in this tip? I've barely spoken with anyone, so it seems odd…"

  "Of course not, Miss Beech, and if I did have it, then I wouldn't be able to share that information with you in either case. That's not how this works."

  Lara watched her go and knew immediately what had just happened. There was no doubt in her mind. Helen had her eyes on Lara and on her son. Paul had said as much. She blinked.

  "Now, Doctor. Can you tell me what's wrong with my son? I've been worried sick since before I ever even called the ambulance."

  The doctor closed her eyes and rubbed the place along her nose where the bridge piece of a pair of glasses would fall, though she wasn't wearing any.

  "Yes, I can tell you all about it, if you'll follow me, please."

  When they stepped outside, an orderly was waiting, and followed them. Lara watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was big, for a hospital employee. Somehow, deep down inside her gut, she couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't there to push dollies and make doctors coffee at one in the morning.

  Something told her that he was there for her, and if she stepped too far out of line, it wasn't going to be one bit of trouble for him to stop her from doing something to her child.

  She would never in a million years. Nobody who knew her thought that was even a risk. But when the right mouth reaches the right ears, it's not hard to get people to believe anything. And in Lara's case, it seemed she'd just about pissed off the right people.

  27

  Paul's skin felt wrong on his body. The suit was too tight, the career path too narrow, and everywhere around him, the grass was green. All except the path where he walked, where the last thousand people to walk through had left the grass dead and dying and a trail of blood to go along with it.

  Was that what he wanted? Was that what he wanted the world to be like?

  What if he didn't want to? What did that even mean? He was the Democratic nominee. The people had voted, and they'd evidently decided that he was the candidate they preferred.

  He'd always considered the mantle of President, like any other power, to be one that someone should only wield if they wanted nothing to do with it. Someone who would be reluctant to use any of his power would be even more reluctant to use it wrong.

  When had he stopped feeling that way? When had he decided that there were a thousand little things that he could fix, if only he worked hard and hoped to hell?

  What did that mean about him? Did it mean that he was moving towards a big fall? What did it say that in order to get there, to use the power that he shouldn't have wanted in the first place, he'd surrounded himself with all the muck and filth of people who shouldn't have been trusted with your dry cleaning?

  He let out a breath and looked up at the waiting room doors again, hoping that he'd see a woman who looked every bit like she was the perfect mother walking through it.

  She didn't. Lara had been gone a long time. He'd checked his watch when twenty minutes were gone, and that was a long time ago. He didn't want to check the watch again, for fear that he would find out it had only been another twenty minutes, and that she would be at least another twenty after that. Each unit of twenty seemed to be getting longer than the one before it.

  Two hours, by the time expansion he seemed to be experiencing, might take up the rest of his life, and she would come back in looking as perfect as usual to find him a withered old husk of a man. Ten years was a long time. It was a long time that had turned him fro
m someone testing the edge of his morality into a man who knew where the lines were because he wasn't afraid to cross them to get what he needed.

  He wondered again what that meant. The sound of a door closing drew his attention and he looked up again, forcing his hope to stifle itself as long as he could. Footsteps came closer, and he allowed a little bit of it to seep in.

  Then the man turned the corner. He was tall, dark-skinned and he looked like he'd been there the better part of twenty-four straight hours. Paul watched him go with the sort of mild interest that someone has for anything changing against a blank canvas.

  The woman who seemed too fat for any single chair snored loudly, her head pressed back against a wall and her mouth lolling open. He took a deep breath and tried to pretend that he wasn't disgusted by it, but he was.

  When Lara got back, hopefully with Tim in tow… he didn't know what he'd do precisely, but something told Paul that he needed to do something. Some celebratory gesture, celebrating that Tim was fine. That there was really nothing to worry about.

  The plan formed itself in his head, and he went back to the last time he'd tried to celebrate something. The other night he'd hoped to celebrate a decent speech performance, and he'd gotten them all in a car accident. What was the next celebration going to bring? A crazed gunman?

  He nixed the idea of any sort of celebration. Everyone was tired. They could celebrate on the plane, if they wanted to. Get some fast food or something on the way to the airport and once they were in the air, break out the happy meals or whatever.

  Another deep breath and another long wait. On the television was the sort of thing that gets shown after midnight; in this case, it was a program explaining about rocks. The rocks in question, apparently, were sufficiently rare to merit discussion, but he wasn't exactly sure how that was supposed to be.

  He didn't want to pay attention to the television so he didn't. The rocks might as well have been magic rocks. Maybe then he'd at least pay that amount of attention. He pushed his hair back. It was getting a little bit long. He'd need to have it cut again before the next debate, or his disastrous hair would be all the talk.