by Sophia Gray
“No they’re not! Even cops have motorcycle clubs!”
Gregory looked at her closely and suspiciously. “Why are you looking into them?”
“Why aren’t you? You’re the one who’s supposed to know!”
“I get my facts from a very reliable source,” he said, his face stony now.
“And who is that? Because, Dad, I am being serious when I say this.” Amelia took a deep breath to steady her voice. Her father had been reasonable in the past...when he was winning elections by landslides. She hadn’t realized that the two were so closely connected. But maybe she could get through to him again. “They seem to be wrong about everything. Motorcycle clubs are perfectly legitimate organizations. They-”
“You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Gregory said flatly. “A few hysterical blog posts defending these people isn’t the same thing as actual research. Warren Miller and Richard Brewer have actually done some work, here. They’re the only ones who seem to be willing to put in the time.”
Disgust overtook her logical response and she turned away. She’d put in her share of hours researching this too. It was more than just making sure Ethan wasn’t the horrible person her father painted him to be. She genuinely wanted to help her father make decisions that would make people’s lives better. And she was being brushed off, dismissed, in favor of two men with inflated statistics that fit Gregory’s own prejudices.
“I’ll be upstairs,” she said tiredly.
“Fine. They’re coming over to discuss how we should address this and I expect you to keep a civil tongue if they want to talk to you.”
Of course, it wouldn’t occur to him to ask if she wanted to talk to them. Maybe in the past it would have, but not anymore. Amelia didn’t bother to reply, she just scooped her purse up and walked up the stairs.
“And don’t forget your date with Anthony tonight,” he called at her retreating back.
“How could I?” she asked, suddenly feeling even more exhausted as she remembered that she hadn’t done anything to get ready. Anthony always took her to places where he could see and be seen. She’d probably need to do better than yoga pants and a messy bun. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll stay out of your way and go on my date like a good girl.”
After I find out whether or not I’m pregnant by another man, that is.
Chapter 11
Amelia
Amelia stared down at the small, white stick, her hands shaking. The test had advertised correctly. Her results were clear. They were actually a little too clear. She wouldn’t have minded some reassuring vagueness at the moment. Pregnant. She was pregnant. She was pregnant by the leader of a biker gang that wasn’t actually a gang. She was pregnant by a man she’d had a one-night stand with and hadn’t spoken to again in almost two months. Of course, she’d probably have to talk to him now.
A quick, slightly hysterical giggle escaped her and she smacked her hand over her mouth. This was no time to laugh. If she laughed too hard then the next swing of the emotional rollercoaster would be tears and she didn’t want that either. She needed logic, not emotion. What the hell was she going to do?
“Amelia?”
She jumped, the pregnancy test flying out of her grip and clattering into the sink when her father appeared suddenly in the doorway.
“What are you...” Gregory began and then trailed off when he recognized what she’d been holding. His face went a dark red and he stepped forward so fast that she shrank back. There was no way to hide it now. In keeping with her recent luck, the test had landed face-up, still cheerily proclaiming she was going to be a mother. He swung to face her, shock and fury written all over his face. “What in the hell is going on, Amelia?” he shouted.
She had to swallow several times before she could motivate her vocal cords into action. “What does it look like?”
“You better be able to tell me that this is all some sort of joke,” Gregory said, breathing heavily, his hands clenching and unclenching.
She shook her head. “No, I’m not feeling particularly funny right this second.”
What she actually felt was sick, dizzy, and a bit frightened. She’d never seen her father this angry. He was actually shaking. Was he going to hit her? She’d never had a reason to wonder that before, but she was afraid of it right now.
“Is it Anthony’s?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“That’s none of your--”
“Don’t tell me this is none of my business, I’m your father!”
“Then act like it!” she shouted back, her fury and worry finally reaching the boiling point. “Don’t stand there screaming at me when I’m scared to death!” Tears filled her eyes, but she knuckled them away angrily.
“You wouldn’t be scared if you hadn’t been so stupid!” he snapped back. “If it’s not Anthony’s then you know what to do. Just get rid of it and, for God’s sake, keep your mouth shut about it.”
He stomped out, slamming the bathroom door behind him. Amelia sank down on the edge of the tub. Her chest burned with anger and the sobs that she tried her hardest to choke back. She didn’t want to give into the panic that threatened to consume her. If she did, she wasn’t sure she’d ever stop crying.
Her hair fell forward into her face and she contemplated it blankly. It was greasy and lank. At least now she had an explanation for that.
That wasn’t the point right now. She needed a shower. No matter what her father had just said to her, she was sure he still expected her to go out with Anthony that night. Mechanically, Amelia stood up and walked over to the glass enclosure. She turned the water on and waited, staring blankly at the wall until steam had fogged the glass. Then she stepped in, barely registering how hot the water was. She was shaking and she couldn’t seem to stop.
Halfway through shaving her legs, she realized that she would have to tell Anthony that she was pregnant. She also realized she had no clue how to start that conversation.
She put her hand on her stomach. It was still flat, obviously. It might even be a few more months before she started to show. It would be even longer before she could feel the baby move. She could take care of things quickly and quietly, like her father had suggested.
But she didn’t want to. It wasn’t just her innate desire to rebel either. The thought of the clinic frightened her. The sterile environment and equipment that she didn’t want to think about. She didn't want a stiffly professional doctor telling her she was doing the right thing. Not when she was so unsure. There was just no way that she could make this decision. Not this soon. Not when she was still so frightened.
Her thoughts went back to Anthony once more. They’d been seeing each other regularly, but he’d never been more physical than a kiss goodnight. And it was always a slightly stiff kiss. A duty kiss more than anything else. He never even parted his lips. That was fine with her. She didn’t want his kisses and God knew that she didn’t want to go to bed with him. Not with Ethan’s memory so fresh in her mind.
But how would Anthony feel about her now that she was carrying another man’s child? She couldn’t imagine he’d be thrilled. If he broke up with her, would her father cut her off anyway? Why did she feel so relieved at the prospect? It had terrified her a month and a half ago.
The hand she’d placed on her stomach once more curled somewhat protectively. No, she couldn't give it all up now. This wouldn’t be the time to be financially unstable. She had to take care of more than herself now.
So was that it? Was it really that easy? Deciding to be a mother? She wrapped a towel around herself and walked into her room to get dressed. She was still terrified, shocked, and more than a little worried, yes. But...she liked the idea of having someone who loved her just because of who she was and not what she could do for them. Her own little baby to face the world with. Amelia and baby versus the world.
Her own person to raise and be totally responsible for. She swallowed hard. She wasn’t delusional enough to think motherhood was limited to picking o
ut cute clothes and planning fun games. She’d grown up with no memories of the woman who had been her mother. Maybe, since she’d grown up without one, she didn’t know how to be one. Maybe the poor kid would be completely screwed up and it would be all her fault. In which case, she’d need her father’s money for therapy bills.
She had that same urge to laugh and cry and Amelia took a breath to steady herself. She had a little time; there was no need to choose right this second. She pulled out her phone and sent Anthony a text.
“Sorry for the short notice, but I’m not feeling well and I can’t make it tonight.”
His reply was nearly immediate. “Sorry to hear that. Feel better.”
It was as impersonal as calling in sick to work. Which was basically what she was doing. What both of them were doing, it seemed.
Taking a few moments to collect herself, she went downstairs to find her father.
# # #
“I don’t think you understand how serious this is.”
Amelia paused just outside the door to her father’s study. She didn’t recognize the man’s voice, but it was angry and forceful.
“I do-”
Her mouth dropped open at hearing her father so quiet and meek sounding. He’d never backed down in a political fight before and this new tone was a huge difference from the way he’d sounded in her bathroom.
“No, you don’t! You didn’t see the original footage, or how many people turned out to support that gangster! This is the kind of thing you’re supposed to have laws in place to prevent.”
“I’ve done everything I can,” Gregory said, a little more fire in his voice now. “I’ve passed the laws to raise the taxes and-”
“And what about the laws to prevent them from congregating?”
“Warren, I’m not even sure I can do that! I can’t get around the entire constitution!”
“Well, you’d damn well better find a way.” This was a different man’s voice, softer than the first man’s, but somehow more venomous. “Because that’s what we’re paying for.”
“Richard, you know I’m trying.”
The deferential tone was back. For some reason, it frightened Amelia more than the other man’s raised voice.
“We told you,” Warren said, “that we’d back you if you backed us. Get rid of the motorcycle clubs. That’s all we asked you to do. It shouldn’t be this hard, Gregory.”
She heard a chair scrape back. “I expect to hear something better soon. I’ve got a long drive back to Vegas and plenty of time to figure out who else I might want to support in this race,” Warren said. “Come on, Brewer, let’s go.”
The door handle turned and Amelia darted into the shadows of the living room. She somehow felt these weren’t the type of guys that you wanted to know you’d been eavesdropping.
From her vantage point in the dark, she saw two men came out of her father’s office. Brewer must have been the one that her father had called Richard. Richard Brewer. The name tickled something in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t quite remember what it was. At least, not when she was so panicked about being seen.
“Warren, Richard,” her father said, his voice nearly pleading at her wiped a handkerchief across his forehead. “I promise, I’ll get this worked out. Just don’t--”
The men didn’t speak again. They simply walked out in the middle of her father’s sentence.
When the door closed behind them, she saw Gregory’s face. For the first time, he really did look old. Too old for the political game, and sad at the same time.
Amelia almost walked over to him, but she checked herself at the last minute. She didn’t want him knowing she’d overheard them either. She waited until he was back in his office and then went up to her room. There had been too much new information today for both of them and he’d probably hit the ceiling if he found out that she’d cancelled with Anthony.
Stopping only to grab her phone and pull her pajamas on, Amelia went to bed. It was early, but she was exhausted and she didn’t want to call too much attention to herself anyway. She’d have to start making decisions tomorrow and she wanted to make them with a well-rested brain.
Her hand curved over her stomach again. “You’re a lot of hard work already, kiddo,” she whispered just before she dropped off.
Chapter 12
Ethan
Ethan had just spread out all of his tools beside the Flathead, the first chance he’d had to work on it in the week that had followed the fundraiser, when his cell phone rang. Of course.
“Damn it.” He grabbed the phone, didn’t recognize the number, and answered it gruffly, already planning to make things quick. “Yeah?”
“Is this a bad time?”
He pulled the phone away and stared at it incredulously. He’d fully expected it to be a bill collector. “Marta Waters?”
“You remembered!” Her bright voice sounded honestly pleased. “I wanted to tell you that my boss loved the piece on your charity drive and he wants a follow-up about how much money you were able to donate,” she continued.
“I don’t have the exact numbers,” Ethan said, looking at the explosion of papers all over his desk. “But it was around ten grand.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I think that’s what Taylor and Jimmy came back to me with. I’ll get up with them and then let you know for sure.” Taylor would be able to spit out the number down to the penny in a few seconds.
“Great! Thanks for the heads up about the event, by the way.”
“Anytime.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that, too.” Her voice became more serious. “I’ve got something else I’d like to talk to you about, too. And I’d much rather do it in person than over the phone.”
“Paranoid about wire taps?”
“No, I just like looking at you.”
Ethan laughed. That wasn’t even close to what he’d expected to hear.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Marta said. “It must have happened to you a few times. Women love a bad boy. What do you think? I happen to be free tonight, and in the mood for French food.”
For a second, Ethan was shocked to find himself on the verge of saying no. But why the hell would he? Marta was smart, successful, gorgeous. Her blend of honesty and flirtatiousness was right up his alley too. The trouble lay in the fact that she wasn’t Amelia. But he didn’t owe Amelia Stratton a damn thing.
“Sounds good to me,” he said. He had to get Amelia out of his head and if Marta Waters wanted to help, he was damn sure going to let her.
# # #
“This is a pretty...uh...” He glanced around, feeling incredibly underdressed for the French restaurant she’d talked him into.
“It’s so overdone and ridiculously fancy,” Marta said, her eyes shining. “I love it here. You’ll be impressed when you taste it.”
He wasn’t convinced, but he followed the host to the table and took a seat across from Marta.
Once their drinks had been delivered, Marta took a sip of her white wine, then took a longer sip and finally said, “Okay. I’m taking a risk even telling you this. Can I have your promise that you won’t say anything to anyone about what I’m about to say?”
Ethan raised an eyebrow. He never made a promise before getting all of the details, and he wasn’t about to start now. “Probably. Depends on what it is.”
“It’s about Gregory Stratton. And a way to possibly get him out of our political system.”
Ethan put his drink down with a thump and leaned forward. “Okay. I won’t say anything.”
She smiled. “I thought you’d be in. I’m just collecting threads right now, but there are plenty of them. Some really strange things going on behind the scenes.”
“Like what?”
“Mostly just in his behavior. He never said a word about bikers or motorcycle clubs until this past year. Why the sudden passion? Why the push to stop you from gathering? Why the higher taxes to basically force most motorcycle clubs to close their doo
rs? More importantly, he’s lost a lot of his previous financial backers to his opponent. So, where’s the money coming from?”
“Maybe he’s paying for it himself?” Ethan asked.
Marta shook her head. “Politics is a big money game. He wouldn’t have the coin to compete without backers.”
Ethan took a bite of the terrine that had just been placed in front of him. Marta had recommended it and he was a bit suspicious.
“Good God,” he said, resisting the urge to close his eyes. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Told you,” Marta said smugly. “I have excellent taste in food, wine, and men.”
