by Zoey Parker
“I want you to have my child.” I let the words hang in the air. There is no other sound to dilute them, not even the hum of the air conditioning or the whirr of a fan. The sentence is stark against the silence.
“What?”
“I want you to have my child,” I repeat. “I want you to get pregnant with my son.”
“Shut the fuck up,” she says. “That’s not a funny joke, Mortar.” She wants me to be kidding, but it takes one look at my face to know that I’m deadly serious. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
She scoots away, holding a sheet over her naked body. “Don’t fucking say that to me,” she says. I can tell she’s scared, or angry, or some of both. More likely is that she doesn’t know what to make of this. I can empathize. After all, I’ve had weeks and months to think of this, whereas she’s only had a few seconds. It will take time. I get that. But she doesn’t have a choice.
“I don’t have any family left,” I explain. “My brother died with only me to remember him. What happens if I get gunned down? You know what I do for a living. Men in my business are not exactly known for their long life expectancies. I have a name that I’ve worked hard to make into something worthy of admiration. I don’t want it to die just because some fucker decides to take a cheap shot at me one night.”
My words are barely registering with her. She’s opening and closing her mouth like a fish, fluttering her eyes, just trying to process the weight of what I’m saying. It’s hard to blame her. My heart is twisting. She’s beautiful, she deserves to be protected. I do mean what I’ve promised her. I’ll protect her for as long as I’m able. But I was raised on the streets, and a man with my background never makes a promise without extracting something in return.
“This is the deal,” I tell her. “I’ll give you time to think about it.”
I stand up and go to the shower. When I come back out, dressed, I see that she hasn’t moved. Her eyes are blank and staring straight ahead. I’m not sure what to think. There’s something to her that is different from any other girl I’ve ever met. I’m still struggling to process that myself. Part of me feels bad.
But the other part has to get to work.
I pause in the doorway. “I’ll be back this evening,” I say over my shoulder. I don’t make eye contact with her. “We can talk tonight.”
* * *
The clubhouse is buzzing when I walk in. I’m confused. There’s never this many men here for a casual meeting. It’s usually just the core guys who head up the businesses we run. But I look around and see that everyone is present, from the most scarred-up old bastard to the newest prospect we have. Something is going on.
I walk over to Steezy. “What’s going on, man? Why’s everyone here?”
He looks up at me. “Some big announcement. Prez called an all-hands, but no one is sure what’s up. He’s been cooped up in his office all morning with the lieutenants. Matter of fact, why weren’t you in there?”
“Had to pick up my bike from the shop,” I lied. I’m not ready for everyone to know what happened with Kendra yet. It could cause some serious shit to hit the fan. Losing Grady will be a major blow to the cash flow from the races, and I don’t have a good Plan B to present to Croak and the gang yet.
“Hm,” Steezy grunts. He starts to say something else, but then Croak limps up to the front of the room, swinging that bad foot of his like a dead weight. He raises a palm and everyone falls silent.
“The news I’ve got to share ain’t good, men,” he rumbles. “Grady Freeman is trying to fuck us.”
I make sure to keep my face still. One thing you learn when you grow up like me is that betraying an emotion is the quickest way to get you killed. But on the inside, my blood turns cold. This is not how I wanted things to go down.
“The bastard is tripling his price.”
Angry murmurs ripple out amongst the Inked Angels in attendance. I hear the word “cocksucker” float up more than once.
Croak slaps the bar top to get everyone’s attention back. “That means he wants one hundred and twenty grand a month to keep our little arrangement alive and thriving. You don’t have to be as smart as me to know that we can’t afford that.”
Croak’s right. I’m familiar enough with the club’s finances to realize that one hundred and twenty thousand dollars a month will wipe out whatever profit we make from the drug running and the races combined. We’d be sunk within six months. More to the point, I know that Grady knows this, too. This is a revenge ploy.
The question is, who else besides me knows the reason? I haven’t heard anything from the rumor mill. I can’t imagine that Grady wants everyone to know his wife got snatched from under his nose, and on their wedding day of all days. But that kind of shit is hard to keep a lid on. Sooner or later, everyone will find out.
“But even though we can’t afford that much, we can’t afford not to pay him, either. The feds are getting itchy to investigate the races. Seeing as how it ain’t exactly an undercover thing to have a couple morons racing two hundred miles an hour down the street while we swap drugs on the sidelines, it’s gonna be impossible to keep operating if the feds come lurking around.” Some of the men chuckle, but Croak doesn’t smile. This is our livelihood at risk.
He went on, “Freeman implied that if we don’t pay him, he’ll have no problem getting the feds to pull the trigger on the investigation. That means, for now, everyone needs to lay low until we can get this bullshit sorted out. Don’t do nothing at all that has any risk of drawing unnecessary attention to us. Don’t get in any fights, don’t shoot any guns, and don’t go fucking anybody’s mother.” No one dares to laugh this time around.
“Y’all are dismissed.” Croak waves a hand. Tables and chairs scrape on the floor as men stand up, muttering to themselves about the unpleasant news.
“This shit ain’t good,” I hear one junior Angel say to a prospect. Others around me are saying the same kind of thing. I have to agree. Without the races, we lose our main pipeline for cash, not to mention a huge market for the drugs we bring in through the Galveston port. Putting them on hiatus does not bode well for the club.
Everyone disperses out the front door. I go to try to talk to Croak, but the door to his office is closed and locked. No one responds to my knocking. I sigh and turn to walk away. On my way out, I bump into Vince.
“This is some crazy shit, man, isn’t it?” he says to me.
“It’s not good,” I agree.
Vince looks around warily. “Look, man, I don’t want to alarm you or anything…”
I squint my eyes at him. Something’s up. “What’s the deal?”
“You didn’t hear this from me, okay? But some of the guys have mentioned that you might be involved with this shit with Grady.”
I decide to play dumb. It’s better to know what people are saying than to be blissfully ignorant. “How so?”
“I’m not saying it was you for sure, don’t get me wrong. But some people said they saw you taking off with his wife after the wedding. She hasn’t been seen since.”
It’s even harder to keep my face under wraps. Vince is a good friend, and I know he’s just looking out for me. But I need to come up with a plan, and quickly, before something happens that I can’t control.
I settle my hand on Vince’s shoulder. “I didn’t have anything to do with it, man.” I hate lying to him, but I don’t have a choice right now. I need to buy myself some time. “It’s no secret that I’m not Grady’s biggest fan, but it isn’t my kind of move to steal a chick away from her husband on their wedding day.”
Vince nods. I can tell he’s relieved.
“Besides,” I say, “Grady’s a sack of shit. Who’s to say she didn’t run away from him on her own?”
Vince laughs. “Well, whoever took her away, they better be ready for war. Grady Freeman is one angry son of a bitch.”
I grit my teeth. If that motherfucker lays one hand on Kendra, it’ll be the last thing he ever
does.
Chapter 5
Kendra
How the hell did I end up in this situation?
I’m pacing back and forth in Mortar’s empty house, trying to get a grip on the whirlwind sequence of events that has taken me from a normal, if abusive, night out with Grady, to being locked inside a stranger’s home, deciding whether or not to accept his protection in exchange for letting him impregnate me.
Step by step, everything made sense when I was deciding, but now that I’m looking at the big picture, I still can barely wrap my head around the circumstances. One minute, I’m strapped down on a one-way train to a life of misery. The next, I’m at the entrance of a rabbit hole that leads to God only knows where.
This is crazy. I try the words out loud, “This is crazy.” For some reason, hearing my own voice speak my thoughts help make them clearer.
“I can’t take the deal.” There, now I’ve said it. It’s out there and spoken and final and there’s no going back.
Or is there? Really, what are my other options? I’ve got a murderously angry husband lurking around the city ready to kill me for running from him. He’s a cop who can do anything he wants and get away with it. I know what he’s capable of; I’ve seen it.
On the other hand, I’ve got this lunatic outlaw babbling crazy ideas about using me to breed his children. It’s true that he made me feel things in bed that I’ve never even come close to experiencing before, but since when is that enough to serve as the basis for starting a family? That’s not how this kind of thing works. Saying yes to Mortar would be insane.
I’m at a fork in the road, and both options feel impossible.
I stalk around the house, opening drawers, peeking in closets, anything to distract myself from the dilemma at hand. As much as I think Mortar is out of his mind, there’s a part of me that has an insatiable curiosity about him. It feels strange to be here, amongst his things, running my hands over his clothes and watching silly daytime talk shows on his television. In its own way, it feels like I’m getting to know him, even though he isn’t here.
After hours of impatient waiting, I would’ve thought that the sound of the key in the door would be like manna from heaven. I can’t deny that part of me—namely, the part between my legs—is excited that Mortar is home. But the sense of dread that his return inspires in me is more pressing right now. As much as I want to feel his lips on mine, I force myself to stay rooted to the couch.
He comes in, tosses his keys on the coffee table, and sits in the armchair across from me. He sighs as he props his boots up on the table.
“So?” he asks.
My eyes narrow. “So what?”
“So do you accept the deal?”
Is he serious? Does he know the kind of day I’ve had? Does he even realize the impact of this decision on my life? This isn’t like picking what I’m going to eat for dinner. This is a baby! All of these thoughts run through my head at once, but the only thing I manage to splutter out is, “Are you insane?”
“You’ve had all day to think. You need to decide whether or not you agree.”
“This is an impossible decision!”
“It’s not. You can either accept my terms, or you can go. It’s pretty simple, actually.”
I have no words. I’m angry and turned on and confused all at the same time. “Are you even aware of what this would mean? If I say yes—and that’s a big if—that would mean there’d be a baby to think about. Grady already wants to kill me. A child would just be another target for him.”
Mortar dismisses my concerns with a careless wave of his hand. “I’m not worried about Grady.”
“You should be!” I explode.
He leans forward on his elbows and fixes me with a hard stare. “How many times do I have to say this before you believe me?” he asks. “I will protect you. I made you a promise, and I don’t break promises.”
It’s hard, no, impossible, to deny the confidence in his voice. He’s so sure, not just of this, but of everything. It’s an intoxicating strength of his. I feel surer in his presence. Just by hearing his voice, my fears of Grady ebb, if only the tiniest bit. Mortar will protect me. I can’t believe that will be enough.
“I just don’t know,” I finally say.
Mortar doesn’t blink. “When you left with me, you believed that I would do what I promised you. This is your end of the deal. Hold up yours, and I will hold up mine. Give me a baby and you will be safe in my protection forever. You’re mine now, and Grady doesn’t touch what’s mine. Nobody does.” His eyes are so steady. I can’t doubt them. They won’t let me.
He sees my hesitation. He knows I’m teetering. I don’t know whether to cry or scream or kiss him, or everything at once. But Mortar takes the decision away from me when he grabs my face in his hands and kisses me as hard as he can.
His tongue probes my mouth and runs along the edge of my teeth. I’m too swept up even to notice his hand slipping up the baggy t-shirt of his that I found in a dresser drawer. He cups my breast in his palm and pinches my nipple easily.
The fork in the road is this: Mortar or Grady. I trust that Mortar can keep me safe, despite how much Grady’s anger terrifies me. I think back on last night and remember what Mortar did to my body, how he made it ring and clench so hard, so good. The memory alone is enough to get me wet again. And then I consider the final piece in the puzzle: the studio.
I pull back. “You’ll help me keep the studio?”
He nods fiercely, my chin resting between his fingers. “Whatever it takes. I’ll pay the rest of the loan to Grady, and then it’ll be yours for good. No more worrying about it.”
It all clicks into place.
“Do you accept?” he asks me.
I’m fighting through all the whirling elements: the sex, the studio, Grady, the races, the Inked Angels, a baby, a baby! and this man in front of me. But burning through it all is his hand, now down between my thighs, searching and teasing for the heart of me. When my hips buck into his touch of their own accord, Mortar grins. He knows I have no choice but to agree. The balance is swinging his way.
I’m his.
I give him a tight nod. Before I can say a word, he picks me up in his arms like I weigh nothing. He’s kissing me as he carries me into his bedroom, throws me on his bed, and then sprawls on top. His weight on me is perfect, exactly the pressure I need to block out this whole situation and just focus on his touch, the one made for my body, the one that sends heat burning along my thighs and between my legs. I run my hands along his biceps. He’s strong, shaped by years of hard living. I think about Grady’s fleshy, sweaty bulk, and I can’t imagine him putting up any kind of resistance to a man as chiseled as this. I feel safe.
I let myself be taken by him, opening my mouth up to his tongue and my legs to his grinding hips. I can feel his stiffening erection through his jeans. The friction on my mound feels good, but it’s not enough, not even close.
He lifts the edge of the shirt I’m wearing over my breasts as he slides his hands to grip them. I let out an easy sigh as he kneads them in his hands, rubbing each nipple between thumb and forefinger. A soft sensation wafts through my body, like a breeze before an oncoming hurricane. I sit up slightly and help him pull the shirt the rest of the way off. I push his over his head, too, and toss it to the floor on the side of the bed.
His chest is thick with knotted muscle. I run my fingertips across it, tracing the curvature of his pecs and his abs, sliding my hands along the hard muscles of his back and arms. He is so solid to the touch, so unyielding. His body is a perfect reflection of who he is. I lean into it, molding myself against his heat and bulk.
I still don’t understand how he drives me so crazy with the simplest touch. Nothing like it has ever happened to me before, not with Grady or any of the other few men I’ve ever been with. With them, orgasms were few and far between, and their touch was more tolerated than anything else.
But every time Mortar kisses me or eases his fingers to where my thi
gh meets my hip, I feel my pulse quicken and my core heat up. Even if my mind is still unsure what to think of him, my body knows exactly what it wants, and it asks for it.
He lowers his head to my waist and starts to nibble and suck at the skin there. His tongue moves across my abdomen from hip to hip, then paints each thigh. Without the shirt, I’m naked save for the white panties I’d worn to the wedding. He dispatches those easily, tugging them down the length of my legs and casting them aside.
I expect him to run his tongue along my hot slit as he dances tantalizingly close. Instead, he undoes the buckle of his jeans with one hand and shoves them quickly off his body. He rubs softly at my clit with the other thumb, enough to keep me occupied while he frees himself from his boxers.
I’m wet enough for him to slide a finger tentatively inside me. I look down to see him fully naked and sitting back on his heels as he strokes himself to full hardness. Hungry to feel him, I lean forward and reach for his member, but he pushes me roughly onto my back. I notice the weight of the bed shift as he scoots forward and touches the head of his cock to my moist opening. He starts to move into me, but I sit up and put a hand on his chest.
