by J. C. Emery
“Babe,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road. My shoulders are stiff and my back hurts. I fucking hate staying in hotels, but even worse than that, I hate driving in the city. San Francisco traffic can go fuck itself with an itchy dick. Holly doesn’t hear me—either that or she’s ignoring me, which is something she’s a goddamn expert at—and she keeps on singing. I’d take a bullet for Sweets and all, but that doesn’t mean I’ll listen to this lame shit on repeat. Besides, Charlie doesn’t like this crap anyway.
“Babe,” I say again. I peek to my right and catch sight of her rolling her eyes in the mirror. She purses her lips and cuts off the stereo. I breathe easy for the first time since we got into the car over twenty minutes ago.
“You interrupted our song,” she says in mock annoyance. Or real annoyance. Fuck if I know. Charlie scrunches her face up and grabs a hold of her foot. Her face is bright red. She yanks at her little brown boot and becomes furious when she can’t pull it off.
“Can’t yank it off, can ya?” I ask her with an evil laugh. My eyes meet hers and for a brief moment, she smiles. Her little hands yank at her boot again and the smile vanishes. “That’s right. Dad knows how to tie that shit. Ask your sister.”
Her little face gets impossibly redder as she glares at me, shakes her chubby little fists and then opens her mouth. I regret taunting her immediately. She’s screaming and crying. Fat tears fall from her eyes and cover her cheeks. Even in tears and wailing at full volume, Charlie is the fucking awesome. It’d been so long since Chey was a baby I’d forgotten what it was like to have a baby in the house. I love my kids and all, but shit. Thankfully, she’s finally old enough that I can start to do shit with her and her personality is becoming really pronounced.
“Good job,” Holly says. “You just had to piss her off.”
“Just wait, Sweets,” I say as I pull the SUV into the parking garage and find an empty spot. “Few months, it’s gonna be even. No more unfairly ganging up on me.”
Climbing out, I round the back of the vehicle quickly. Charlie is still wailing in the backseat like her world has ended. Sweets gets pissed if I don’t get to her quick enough these days. Fucking temperamental. No wonder our daughter is so prone to throwing temper tantrums. Holly’s door is open, and she’s facing me when I walk up. Sliding forward to the edge of the seat, she finds her footing on the side running board. She takes my hands and lets me shoulder the burden of the extra weight as she steps down. Her rounded belly bumps my gut as she finds her footing.
“Careful with this thing,” I say and place my hands on her stretched flesh just inches above where my son rests. I won’t officially meet him for another few months, but I’m already planning on us leveling the playing field. Leaning in, I give her a quick kiss and a wink. Holly’s hormones are all over the place these days–even so much as a wink can set her off, and do I ever enjoy the rewards when they set her in the right direction.
I retrieve Charlie from her car seat and expertly get her stroller out with my free hand. She quiets her screaming, but kicks against my side. Now I know Chey was not this difficult as a baby. I can only hope that Charlie’s teen years are less dramatic than Chey’s were. There’s a learning curve and it takes some maneuvering, but now that I’m used to having a baby in the house again, I’m like a fucking superhero. I can do just about anything with one hand and three hours sleep. Good thing, too, because when baby James is born, I know I’m going to be functioning on a lot less.
Holly grabs the diaper bag from the floorboard and shuts the door behind me as I stick the scream queen into her stroller. She grabs at the handles and pushes her way through the crowded parking garage. I let out a frustrated breath and shake my head. Jim should have been here today. Asshole. Everybody else made it. Just about. Obviously Chief couldn’t make it.
We take the elevator to the lobby of the hotel. Right when we step off, a large sign directs us to the grand ballroom where graduation’s being held. I couldn’t be more proud of my girl today. She’s graduating from culinary school with a degree that specializes in desserts and shit. It’s been two long years that she’s been here in the Bay Area. Even if she does make it home every chance she gets, it’s just not enough. She was a great kid and a fun teenager, but now? She’s incredible.
She only has one flaw.
He’s six-foot-three with brown hair and navy blue eyes. He’s a fucking asshole who gets worse with every passing day and the cut he wears only enables that behavior. I’m proud to call him my brother, but fuck if I don’t want to call him my son. And he’s standing in the doorway to the ballroom wearing dark blue jeans, a gray short-sleeve shirt that shows his tattoos, and his Forsaken cut. He’s started to grow out a goatee, but it’s not much yet. The shit he’s done for the club reminds me that he is man enough to care for my girl. I’m just bitter about the fact that she’s old enough to have a man who’s not me care for her.
She loves him.
It’s been rocky, and he’s fucked up in ways that—I think—entitle me to take him out.
But she loves him.
“Deep breaths, baby,” Holly says from up ahead. “Either that or your brain is going to explode.”
Baby Boy gives me a nod as he bends down to poke Charlie in her belly. She lets out a loud laugh and kicks her feet. Even she likes him. Traitor.
“Grady,” he says. “Can we talk?”
No.
“Yeah,” I say. Holly looks back real quick, but then turns around and keeps walking into the ballroom. There are rows and rows of chairs in front of a small, elevated stage. If Baby Boy is here, then the rest of the hooligans must be here as well.
We walk down the hall and out onto the street. He flexes his jaw a few times and blows out a breath. He’s nervous. Good. Asshole.
“Wanna do it right this time,” he says.
Prick.
“She’s pissed,” I say.
He nods his head and says, “I know.”
“I should have water-boarded your ass for that shit last time.”
“You’d of had the right to,” he says. “Happens in the future? Do it.”
I don’t know when this cocksucker grew a spine, but he did. The club’s good for a lot of things, and unfortunately, one of those things is teaching mouthy boys how to be men.
Goddamn it.
“I got your blessing?” he asks.
Yeah, he does. But fuck if I’m gonna make it that easy on the motherfucker.
I reach out and grab him by the back of his neck. He doesn’t fight me nor does he blink. He’s a rock, just like his dad. That old bastard should be around here somewhere. I squeeze as hard as I can knowing I’m going to leave a nasty bruise. I hope it lasts for at least a week. His jaw tenses, but that’s the only indication that I’m hurting him. Leaning in, I shove my chest against his. My words come out as a hiss.
“I don’t give a fuck how much shit you’ve done for your patch. Doesn’t matter how many people you’ve seen suffer and die, no matter how much vengeance you’ve dealt—you ain’t seen or experienced shit until you’ve hurt my little girl. This is your one fucking chance—your last fucking chance. Be the man she needs. Anything less and you’re dead.”
“Yes, Sir,” he says as steady and cool as can be. Only two reasons a man in his position isn’t angry or flustered by this. He’s either completely insane, or he’s completely in love.
And fuck me if I’m not grateful that if this shit has to happen, it’s with him. Not that I like the prick or anything.
I release him with a violent flip of my wrist. He stumbles a bit, but then straightens his back and lifts his chin. We walk back into the ballroom and join our family. Basically is here—most of us have been in the city for a day or two now since it’s quite a trip. Duke and Nic stand with Holly. Their daughter, Robin, who is two now, stands in front of Charlie’s stroller and is talking with her. I never know what the fuck they’re trying to say to each other, but I’m damn sure they’re conspiring. Alex and Ryan are close
by. Took him long enough, but he finally told her she’s gonna marry him. Guess she said yes, judging by the size of the rock on her finger. Ian is talking to Ruby, and I think Elle’s supposed to show up at some point. She said she might have to work, but I can’t keep track of her schedule. Diesel isn’t showing, which is fine. Jim not showing chaps my ass, but what the fuck am I gonna do about it? Asshole. Wyatt is already seated with Mindy by his side and Butch a few chairs down. My mom is on Mindy’s other side, but when she spots Holly, she taps Mindy’s shoulder and they get up and go to love on the babies. Women.
An announcer starts the ceremony, and we all scramble to find seats in the limited space. There’s plenty of standing room, so I opt for standing behind Holly’s chair. My mom sits next to her with Charlie in her lap.
Baby Boy comes to stand next to me. Robin is standing on Duke’s lap and jumping up and down to reach her uncle. I still don’t know what the fuck it is about girls and this prick. Without even looking back, Duke lifts her over his head and Jeremy takes her. She rests comfortably in his arms and places her head on his shoulder.
My brain is assaulted with images of the bastard with his own kid. My stomach rolls violently. The pot brownies I ate last night aren’t sitting right with me all of a sudden.
The ceremony drags on with the only highlight being when Chey takes the stage. She’s dressed in her white uniform with black shoes and her chef’s hat. She looks like the Pillsbury dough boy—silly as hell. But she wanted this, and she’s good at it. I’m proud of her for doing this. She made a hard choice, one I’m not sure I would have made, and it’s paying off. Once they get through the list of the graduates, there are a few closing words, and then the kids toss their chef’s hats in the air. When everybody stands to cheer on the graduates, I lean down and ease Holly up.
Wrapping my arms around her, I whisper in her ear, “Can’t believe she’s grown.” She nods and tears up as Chey approaches us. I step out into the aisle to give her a hug. She’s still a good twenty feet away, but I want to be first. Jeremy steps out beside me and her eyes dart between us. Robin is off with Duke once more. Chey gives Jeremy a wink and picks up her pace until she’s running. He’s her guy now, I remind myself. Dear Old Dad is second fiddle. My shoulders slump, and I give her a sad smile.
She runs faster, and in a second, her smile gets so wide that I swear it could light up the fucking room. She slams into me with such force that I stumble backward. I’m winded, having not expected the hug, but wrap my arms around her tightly. He may be her man, but for now, in this moment, I still get to be daddy. I let myself pretend she’s just graduating kindergarten and we have many more years of these hugs in our future. I’m fooling myself, I know.
She lets go and wraps her arms around Jeremy. It’s not a long hug because once Holly waddles out with Charlie on her hip, Chey’s attention is diverted. She gives them both a hug, but then snatches her baby sister and gives her kiss after kiss on her cheek.
“I don’t care how old I get,” Chey says to Charlie who, as always, is absolutely mesmerized by her big sister. “You’re always going to have to share Dad and Holly with me. Got it?”
Charlie kicks her feet out and reaches for the collar of Chey’s shirt. She’s been practicing it for weeks now, and I’ll admit, I’m a bit jealous, but Charlie gets to work on saying sis. She’s already got mama and dada down, but sissy is her new favorite. I wish Chief could see this. My two girls, each with a piece of him—one with his tribe and one with his first name—for him to spoil.
Chey walks off with Charlie and Jeremy to make the rounds of thanking everyone who came. It’s a big deal when one of our own graduates from something, especially higher education.
Mindy walks up and gives Holly a hug. Both of the Mercer women have come a long way from where they once were. You’d never know the horrors they faced just from looking at them. Mindy still struggles, but she’s got her sixty-day chip right now, so she’s back on track.
Holly worked through her own demons for the most part, but it was touch and go for a while there. I close the distance between us. Through the sheer sleeve of her top, the butterfly tattoo that rests on her shoulder blade peeks through. She used to fear butterflies once, and they still ick her out, she says. But her tattoo is a testament to her strength. My Old Lady doesn’t let her fear control her. She looks it in the eye and gives it the middle finger. She’s always been that fearless though, even when she didn’t know it.
Chey swings by and drops Charlie in to my arms. Charlie smacks her tiny little lips in my face and giggles uncontrollably. I can’t wait to see what kind of big sister she’s going to be. I place a gentle kiss to her cheek and savor this time I have with her. Before I know it, she’s going to be all grown up and some asshole is going to fall in love with her. I wrap my free arm around Holly and take a deep breath.
“You look a little too happy there, bud. How many brownies did you eat?” Holly asks teasingly. My woman’s always been beautiful, but the more time I have with her, the deeper I find that beauty goes. She’s the mom Layla couldn’t be. She’s the rock I need. She’s a soft place for me to fall. She’s protective and loyal and bossy as all fucking hell. I just hope I can be those things for her in return. Nothing I ever do will be enough to make us even.
“Not enough,” I admit. “I’m just happy.”
She leans in and nibbles on my ear while whispering, “Get someone to watch Charlie later. I want a little time alone with you.”
“You offering to suck my dick?” I ask. My mood perks up at the idea.
“If you’re good, I might let you massage my feet,” she says and places a kiss to my neck. I pull her in closer to my side and let myself breathe easy and be content for this moment. After everything we’ve been through and all the pain we’ve suffered, we’re in a good place now.
Solid.
Safe.
Saying “thank you” is never easy. I’m all too aware that without the incredible on-going support from those around me that these books would be a hot mess and likely unpublishable. The fact that real live people are reading my work and sometimes enjoying it makes my heart swell. It’s through your enthusiasm, encouragement, love, support, and criticism that I’m able to do what I do.
To Amy Shearer (Books) for proofing the horrible mess I made of Rachel’s awesome edits after I clicked the wrong button in Word (I still don’t know what I did!). Thank you for tolerating me, even when I’m at my worst and crying at two a.m. because a character won’t cooperate. I think I’m going to keep you, and I promise one day I’ll go an entire dinner without talking about work. To Rachel Bateman at Metamorphosis Books for always being so patient and kind with me, and for reading more curse words than MS Word can count. You’re irreplaceable. To Brenda Gonet at Gonet Design for once again helping me achieve my vision for the book cover.
To Nazarea Andrews for being my sounding board, advocate, and such a great friend. I don’t know what you said to Kelly Simmon (KP) at Inkslinger to get her to take me on, but thank you! I’m so proud to be part of the Inkslinger family. To Danielle Sanchez, you are simply fantastic at what you do. You came into my life as my publicist, but I now regard you as a great friend. Bet ya had no idea what you were getting into, huh? Well, now you’re stuck with me! Thank you for helping me share my stories and vision with the world. To the rest of my girls in Indie Ignites. Thank you Chantal Fernando, for staying up late with me every night (or is it early where you are?) and helping me pound out the words. Don’t forget our deal—I expect to see you in the States next year!
To my family, thank you for supporting my dream and not shunning me when you realized how many creative ways I can use the word fuck. Mom, you are the absolute best. Period. Always and forever. I am beyond grateful to have you on my “team” of cheerleaders and ass-kickers. You inspire me to be better and to strive for more. To Britt, my Sissy. Thanks for having my back when Mom went off the deep-end because of my deadline. Sorry not sorry that you got in trouble fo
r it. I love you! Grandma, thank you for knowing I write filthy, crude stories and still wanting to read them—but no, you can’t—sorry. I’ll gift you another book to read!
And finally—Mandie—my best friend, sister, personal assistant, punching bag, beta, hetero life-mate, notebook hider, and buddy—words can’t possibly express how thankful I am for you. You are so busy with my nephew (coolest kid ever!) that I never expected you to take me on as well. But you have, and your contribution to keeping this ship afloat is profound. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
Thank you.
AS A CHILD, JC was fascinated by things that went bump in the night. As they say, some things never change. Now, as an adult, she divides her time between the bad-ass bikers, sexy law men, mythical creatures, and kick-ass heroines that live inside her head. A San Francisco Bay Area native, JC has also called both Texas and Louisiana home. These days she rocks her flip flops year-round in Northern California and can’t imagine a climate more beautiful. Her dream is to own her own Harley and she feels compelled to tell you that she is Team Peeta all the way.
JC is the author of the Bayonet Scars series, Men with Badges line, and the Birthright series.
Find JC Emery on the web!
http://www.jcemery.com
http://twitter.com/jc_emery
http://www.facebook.com/jcemeryauthor
http://www.goodreads.com/jc_emery
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
Unfortunately, sexual assault isn’t just a fancy plot device. It happens frequently and the statistics are horrifying. The only way we can seek to prevent/limit future assaults is through education and awareness. No organization is better equipped to do both than RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network). For more information on RAINN, please visit rainn.org. If you are in need of help, or know someone who may be, please contact RAINN’s free, anonymous helpline: 1(800) 656-HOPE.
