BIKER’S SURPRISE BABY

by Kathryn Thomas

“Everything. I work on my club, I work on my body, I work on my investments.” He grabbed a sauté pan from the appropriate cabinet without a second glance, a sign that he’d gotten really comfortable, really fast. And maybe she kind of liked that.

  “What investments?”

  “In the community.” He shrugged, cracking eggs over a bowl. “Making sure things stay good.”

  “You couldn’t be more vague.”

  “Why should I tell you?” He glanced back at her, his knowing smile searing through to her core. “You don’t wanna tell me things, I don’t tell you things.”

  She clucked her tongue, easing onto the stool at the other side of the counter. “I see how it is.”

  He chuckled, whisking the eggs with a fork. “Exactly.”

  Comfortable silence blossomed between them, but after a few moments, the rhythmic banging of the bed against the wall grew loader. A moan carried through the apartment. She laughed and buried her face in her hands, reminding her of the tight pulse between her legs.

  “So you don’t like, have a job?”

  “Darlin’, I have a hundred jobs.” He sliced the onion into fine slivers, and then chopped up the bell pepper without even batting an eye.

  “But what does the club do?”

  He paused, stilling the knife. “We keep shit safe.”

  She laughed, but reined it in when he glared. “Safe? Didn’t seem that way.”

  “Listen, stuff works different on the streets. I can’t explain it if you don’t live it. This shit is how we live.”

  “Still doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “Doesn’t have to.”

  A comfortable silence settled between them and when she glanced at him next his gaze was waiting for hers. A shiver traveled through her body and she didn’t know what to make of this confusing cocktail of emotions. On the one hand she was desperate to get his body on top of hers, find the sweet slickness of skin-on-skin, taste the kisses from those cocky lips. But on the other hand…he was a fugitive. A bad guy—or at least a questionable guy. She would do well to stay far away from him. Even though he was literally trapped in her apartment.

  The banging continued in the next-door apartment. Each thud against the wall reminding her of all the different things she’d love to explore with Bo.

  “Those guys,” Bo said, laughing, as though he could sense her internal struggle.

  “They don’t let up.” She headed back around the counter top, squeezing past Bo to get to the carafe of steeping coffee. She pulled out two mugs from the cupboard, inhaling sharply when she felt a hand on her waist.

  She turned to Bo, hesitant to meet his gaze. She knew what she’d find there—exactly what already thrummed through her body.

  “Don’t tell me you’re not curious.” His voice came out husky.

  She creased a brow, trying to play dumb. Like he’d buy it. “What do you mean?”

  That cocky grin bloomed again. “You know what I’m talking about.” He dragged his fingers up the side of her arm. Goosepimples sprouted in their wake.

  Her eyes fluttered shut. His touch did feel good. A little too good. Maybe everything else about him would be better than she’d been imagining, too.

  Bo stepped nearer, the heat of him sinking into her. She swallowed hard, forcing her gaze up to meet his.

  “Can I kiss you?” He cupped the side of her face, his eyes dark and desirous. There was no way she could say no to this man—not from this close.

  Instead of answering him she crushed her lips against his, and he snaked his hand around to clutch her neck, pressing her flush against his body. She whimpered, wrapping her arms around him, one kiss bleeding into a second, then another, and then another. They kissed sloppily, desperately, the passion mounting so quickly she thought she might faint.

  Dakota sighed through a kiss, smoothing her hands over the hard planes of his chest, finding him just as firm and solid as she’d expected.

  But his scent—holy hell, from this close, he was a walking aphrodisiac. Sweat mingled with something evergreen and crisp, sending her into the stratosphere. He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against hers, breath coming out in labored bursts.

  “Hot damn, lady.” He trailed his hands down the sides of her body, finding the curves through the oversized shirt. He grabbed her hands and squeezed, then brought one between his legs. “You see what you do to me?”

  She shivered as her knuckles brushed the ridge in his workout shorts. He moaned low, pressing himself against her, gyrating in slow circles.

  “Jesus, Bo,” she gasped, gripping onto his rock-solid ass cheeks. She matched his slow roll until he hoisted her at the hips, pushing her back onto the counter.

  She giggled, spreading her legs, hooking her ankles around his back. He found the space between her legs easily, that hard bulge pressed up against her right where it counted most. Her head lolled to the side as she relished the jolts of pleasure. Maybe this is how it would happen—pushed up on the counter beside bell pepper and grated cheese, climaxing with her underwear still on just because he rubbed up against her, like a teenager’s furtive first orgasm.

  Bo pushed his hands under her shirt, searching out her gaze before he lifted the fabric. “Can I?”

  She nodded her head. He could do anything he wanted, with that body, and that face. “I’d be mad if you didn’t.”

  Bo grinned, snagging another kiss, pressing his tongue to meet hers. Their tongues clashed for a few moments, his warm hands stilled on her bare hips.

  Knock knock knock.

  Dakota pulled back from the kiss, mind fuzzy. She squinted at the shared wall. That knocking had sounded different.

  Knock knock knock. It sounded again, but this time in tandem with the muffled banging against the shared wall. She clutched at the hard ridge of Bo’s shoulders. “Bo, I think someone’s here.”

  Clarity zipped through his gaze and he straightened. Her gaze fell to the light, warm brown planes of his chest, down over the light sprinkling of black chest hairs. She ran a thumb over the pebbled ridges of his washboard abs, unable to look away.

  “I’ll answer it,” he said, squeezing her hips, sending a surge of moisture into her panties.

  She nodded, a cool draft replacing his body the second he stepped away. She didn’t move from the countertop—they’d pick up exactly where they left off, as soon as he answered the door.

  He peered through the peephole, shoulders squaring. He tugged it open.

  Tony stepped inside, looking frantic.

  Dakota gasped, pushing off of the counter. “Tony! What are you doing here?”

  Bo shut the door behind him and deadbolted it. He lurked behind Tony like a predator, gaze dark and suspicious.

  “Came to meet you and Bo,” Tony said, breathing heavily. “Came as fast as I could.”

  Bo scowled, and then launched himself at Tony from behind, wrapping a bulging arm around his neck. Tony gasped, hands flying to Bo’s arm, like it might help release the pressure. Dakota choked back a shriek—God help her if Bo took her boss’s life right in front of her. She reached for a knife, grasping the handle as she studied the unfolding drama.

  “Where the fuck were you the night I was attacked at Ink Works?”

  Tony sputtered, panic creasing his face. “I was in county, in Nevada. They popped me on a warrant. I was supposed to be back that morning but I never made it back.”

  “Then how’d they know I was there?”

  “It had to be Ray,” Tony croaked. Bo released him and Tony stumbled away. Dakota relaxed a little, loosening her grip on the knife.

  “Why the fuck did you attack him?” She gestured at Tony, then ran to him, grabbing his arm to lead him into the apartment. “Here, come sit down.”

  “I gotta protect my trail,” Bo said, strutting into the kitchen like a prize rooster. Dakota sighed, turning to pour Tony a cup of coffee, both adrenaline and horniness streaking through her.

  This couldn’t be a more confusing or titillati
ng morning.

  And just based on these few days together, everything related to Bo was some combination of the two.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Tony eased onto a bar stool in front of the counter, rubbing at his neck. “Bo, I get it. You gotta protect your trail. But it had to be Ray. Red told me he was sniffing around that day.” Swinging to look at Dakota, he added, “And speaking of Red, she wants you to call her. We need you at the studio.”

  Dakota deflated, smoothing her palm over the countertop. “I just don’t know right now.”

  Bo crossed his arms, leaning against the countertop. “When’d you get in?”

  “Yesterday. Saw Red, checked in at the studio.” He received a mug of coffee from Dakota, blowing on the steaming liquid. “Didn’t tell anyone I’d be coming here, though. Red still doesn’t know you’re here.”

  Bo nodded, some of the tight anxiety in his gut uncoiling slowly.

  “How the hell did you know to come here, then?” Dakota sounded incredulous. “What are you, psychic?”

  Bo grinned. It would be fun to have her around, for longer than this extended sleepover. “I texted him. Told him where to find me.”

  She sipped at her coffee, narrowing her eyes at the two of them over the mug. “So now what?”

  “Club’s still under a lot of heat,” Bo said. “You better not say a damn word about showing up here, Tony.”

  Tony shook his head. “I’m not stupid, Bo.”

  Bo squeezed his shoulder then headed for the bathroom. After a quick piss, he came out to find Dakota and Tony relocated to the couch in the living room, sipping on coffee. He sat on the armrest next to Dakota, eyes riveted to her creamy ankles resting on the coffee table.

  “I’m not gonna stay long,” Tony said, setting his mug down. He stood and stretched, heading for the wall facing the parking lot. “I’ve got a lot of shit to catch up on at the studio. Gets harder to waste three days in jail when you’re my age.” He laughed, peering out between the blinds, letting in a few shafts of sunlight.

  “Would help if you didn’t get locked up, old man.” Bo laughed, but it died when he caught the low hum of approaching motorcycles. His body was like a radar for other hogs, and he quieted to get a sense for where they were, if they were approaching.

  “Bo, you sh—“ Tony started, but was interrupted by the rapid-fire tsst-tsst-tsst of bullets, a fine spray pelleting the face of the apartment. Tony let out a strangled yell.

  Glass burst and metal shrapnel whizzed overhead. Bo leapt, covering Dakota with his body, pulling her to the floor. Dakota screamed into his chest, clutching on to him. He forced a barrel-roll into the coffee table.

  The gunfire stopped and motorcycles roared, growing more distant. Bo lifted his head a moment later, Dakota shivering in his arms. He looked around cautiously, hesitant to confirm his worst suspicion.

  Tony’s body lay lifeless in front of the window. Bo scrambled to standing, approaching cautiously, finding his friend’s body riddled with bullets.

  Dakota breathed heavily behind him. “Is he okay?”

  Bo balled his fists, turning slowly toward her. Something gnawed at him, a sharp pain in his side. He might have gotten shot, but the adrenaline was so high he couldn’t truly tell yet. “Babe…he’s gone.”

  Dakota hiccupped, and then a sob escaped her. She brought her knees to her chest and cried, looking more lost than he’d ever seen her. “What the fuck, Bo? What the fuck?”

  Bo swallowed a knot of emotion, looking around the apartment. “We gotta go.”

  She shook her head. “No. Where are we supposed to go? We can’t just leave him here.”

  “Babe. We gotta go.” He hurried toward the far wall, where he’d been stashing his stuff in a corner. As he walked, the pain spread through his hip. He looked down, his dark shorts an odd shade of black. He winced, but there was no time to tend to it now.

  Their hideout was discovered. It was time to hit the road.

  Dakota curled into a tight ball, staring at Tony’s lifeless body. “We can’t leave him.”

  Bo threw as much of his shit as possible into the backpack, stepping into a pair of loose, dark jeans. The workout shorts stuffed inside were uncomfortable, but maybe the extra pressure would help whatever injury he’d sustained. “Come on. Pack something and let’s go.”

  She sniffled, running her arm over her eyes. “Bo, this is too fucked up. Where are we gonna go? Right into where they’re waiting for you, and will kill you? Come the fuck on.”

  “We’re going to the clubhouse.” It was the only option, the only place he could go after this. “You’re not safe here either, now. So you gotta come with me. Please, Dakota.”

  She shook her head, a new round of sobs emerging. “I can’t.”

  He ran to kneel in front of her, grabbing her by the shoulders. “I’m not leaving you here. You’re not safe here anymore. You have to come with me.”

  Her watery eyes appraised him, and after a moment she nodded, so imperceptibly he thought he’d imagined it. He helped her to her feet. “Pack whatever you can. Fill a bag. But hurry.”

  She shuffled off into the bedroom, hands fisted in her hair. He heard her rummaging around in there while he frantically grabbed the last few things he could think of needing—his new toothbrush, some avocados from the fridge—and then slipped his gun into the waist of his jeans. He winced, pain shooting through him. He looked down at his waist band and saw a tiny bloodstain at the side of his waist.

  “Fuck.” He shrugged a loose t-shirt on, followed by his leather jacket. He poked his head into her bedroom. She’d just tugged a loose shirt on over dark leggings. A backpack lay mostly empty on top of the bed.

  “What can I help you pack?”

  She nodded toward the bathroom. “Go grab my stuff from in there.”

  He raced into the bathroom, grabbing as many toiletries as he could, and came back, stuffing them into the backpack. She had shoved a few more items in there, and after a bit more hunting, she zipped the bag up.

  He grabbed her hand, guiding her into the kitchen. “Any valuables you need to take or hide?”

  She laughed bitterly. “None to speak of.”

  He slung his own backpack over his shoulder and headed for the door, pausing to look over at Tony. He grimaced, pulling Dakota close.

  “I can’t believe he’s dead,” she whispered, tears clogging her voice.

  Bo kissed the top of her head. “Come on. Let’s keep moving.” They headed out of the apartment, locking the door behind them, and then thudded through the hall toward the parking lot. Bo beelined for the motorcycle, which he’d hid in a thicket of tall bushes near the building. He wheeled it out slowly, his breath growing more labored the more he exerted himself.

  Once the bike faced the parking lot, he slung a leg over, making the Harley roar to life. He helped Dakota stow their bags into the back bag of the bike, and then she hopped on, cinching her arms tight around his waist. Pain zipped through him, stealing his breath. Something was seriously wrong—but now was not the time to look into it.

  “Not so tight, darlin’,” he gasped, patting her hands. She loosened her grip and he took a shaky breath, focusing on a dull patch of the asphalt parking lot. Had to get his bearings before they zoomed off. Make the pounding in his head lessen even just a little bit.

  “Come on,” she said after a minute.

  “I’m going.” He popped the kick-stand and revved the bike. They lurched into motion, the whoosh of air helping to clear his mind. After a minute the pain dulled to distant throb. He’d been hit, no doubt, by one of those bullets. Maybe just a glaze, or maybe something way deeper. There was no way to tell without really examining the wound, and seeing down into your own hip was hard. He’d been shot enough to know that most bullet wounds felt the same.

  He eased onto the side street leading to Dakota’s apartment, then stopped to wait for a right turn onto the main thoroughfare. NO bikes around, no tail…they were in the clear, for now at least
. No doubt those guys had tailed Tony, quietly and secretly, and gunned the place down just to make a point. If they’d really known Bo was inside, they would have stormed the place and taken him for dead. But this attack seemed more like dick-swinging; a statement that would make its way back to Bo, one way or the other.

  They weren’t done hunting him.

  ***

  Dakota pressed the side of her face against Bo’s back, tears brushed away as soon as they touched the wind whipping around them. Anger roiled alongside confusion, and the roar of the motorcycle only stoked her further.

  Where the fuck are you even going? What is happening?