by Zoey Parker
Gary nodded, heading down the hallway. She practiced hanging onto that disgust, trying to conjure the exact words his brothers had called out to her. Don’t you forget where he comes from…what sort of life he leads. It was no life that she wanted for herself. It was no life for her baby, either.
A few moments later, slow, heavy footsteps approached. She didn’t turn around when she felt him enter the doorway. All the skin on her arms prickled. She swallowed hard.
“Finally found you,” Bastard said.
“Yeah, well,” was all she could say.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
She shrugged, rummaging through a makeup bag. She had no idea what she was even looking for, just needed something to occupy her attention. “I just don’t really have anything to say to you.”
“I thought we had…” Bastard trailed off, letting out a puff of air. “I thought we had talked about all this.”
“And I thought you were even remotely interested in supporting me,” she spat out, the words dripping like acid from her tongue. She couldn’t hide the anger now. It would all come pouring out.
“I am,” he said, his voice hard. “I don’t know why you think I’m not.”
“Oh, I don’t know why I might think that. Maybe it’s because you disappear, all the fucking time. Maybe it’s because you don’t think twice about it, because why should you? You can walk away whenever you want. Isn’t that right? This isn’t really your problem, it’s mine.” Okay, so she had a few things to say to him.
She looked back at him over her shoulder. His jaw flexed, eyes burning on her. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she said. “You are not the type of guy who’s gonna stick around. You’re a fucking nomad, first of all. And second of all, you’ve never done anything but ghost. I’m sick of ghosting. I want someone who will stay.”
“I want to stay,” he said in a low, firm voice.
“Oh, really?” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that? You’re gonna trade in your lifetime of sleeping around and going wherever you want whenever you want? And, oh, another thing: the way your brothers talked to me the other day, Bastard, was the most disrespectful shit I’ve ever heard. You couldn’t pay me to go back to your clubhouse. And if that’s who you hang around with, then I already know all I need to know about the type of guy you are.”
He rolled his head in a slow circle, fists balled at his side. “You don’t know shit about what type of guy I am.”
“Well I know what you’ve shown me.” She swallowed a knot of fear, preparing to repeat Andi’s words. “You’ve ghosted on me, let me down, bought me a pregnancy test, and then disappeared. That doesn’t make you a stable guy, or even a nice guy. It just makes you halfway decent.”
A crippling silence descended over the room, and she was scared to look at him. He was getting pissed, she could feel it. But she was pissed too. She had earned the right to tell him exactly what she thought about him.
Bastard’s mouth was a thin line. He kicked at the doorframe. “Good to know you think so highly of me.”
“Should I feel some other way?”
“You won’t even give me a fucking chance,” he said.
“I gave you a chance, the last time you came back here. That was fucking hard for me, okay? And look where it got me. Left in the dust, again. Alone in a creepy clubhouse. And harassed by a bunch of men you call your brothers.” She scoffed, turning to the mirror. “Not exactly the family I want to marry into, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m going to deal with them,” he said in a low voice, his gaze on the ground. “Immediately.”
“It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t. My child will never know them.” She leaned closer to the mirror, examining her hairline. Anything to distract herself from the pulsing attention of Bastard, which drew her in like a tractor beam. His gaze was so intense it could practically cut her in half.
“Don’t be like this,” he warned.
“I’m not being like anything.” She whipped around in her seat, glaring at him. “I’m the pregnant one. I have to do what’s best for my baby. Don’t you get that?”
Bastard’s chest rose and fell as he watched her, but he didn’t say anything.
“You’re just a biker. I get it. This is your lifestyle. I’m not trying to cramp that.” She flicked her wrist, hating the tremor of regret whirling through her. This didn’t feel right. Dismissing him wasn’t right. But it was the only course of action that made sense. “Don’t bother sticking around.”
She let a heavy pause go by before she dared to turn around and look at him. When she twisted in her seat, he was gone.
He was fucking gone.
Tears pricked at her eyes and she leapt to her feet, slamming the door shut. Emotion flooded her, sent a wave of anguish trembling through her. So it’s that easy to get rid of him? She hated how disappointed she was. How deceived, yet again, by her own hopes and desires that Bastard might somehow magically be different. She leaned against the door, letting a hiccupping sob escape her before she sunk to her feet, wrapping her arms around her knees.
She wanted Bastard but having him wasn’t right. Her future child didn’t need that drama, that instability. Better to just make up a story, relegate Bastard to some sort of fairy tale.
That way, she, and her baby, would never get hurt again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bastard burst into the headquarters of Damned Devils, his chest so tight he thought he might snap in two. Brothers lingered in the front room, reclining on couches, sucking down beers. As usual a scene as any in the headquarters, but also par for the course in all the various chapters along the west coast. Damned Devils were known for having a good time all the time.
And Bastard had been there too many times to count when those good times involved harassing the morning stumblers out of the clubhouse. The noobs, as they were sometimes referred to; partiers who didn’t come around a lot, who didn’t know the lay of the land. They were easy targets for the brothers, quick entertainment.
But Kit had been the target, and he wouldn’t stand for that shit. Being a nomad didn’t mean he was an outsider. It was time to set the record straight.
“Hey.” Bastard fought to keep his voice level as he came up to some of the guys lounging on the ratty plaid couch. “I need your help.”
“Shoot, bro.” Mac leaned forward, some of his thick blond hair slipping out of place behind his ears. Doug and Iron lounged nearby, listening.
“Any of you remember a girl leaving here the other morning? Four days ago. Black hair, big green eyes.” He leaned against the back of an arm chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
Doug snorted. “You’ll have to be more specific. Tits out? Garter belt?”
The guys chuckled. Bastard cleared his throat. “Sweats, plain clothes. I don’t know when she left, just know that she did. Told me some of the brothers were calling out at her.”
Mac squinted into the distance, pinching an eye shut. “Yeah, mighta seen her.” He turned to Doug. “That was the other day, we were outside, right? On the picnic table?”
Doug sniffed, shrugging. “Yeah, I think I seen her.”
“Yeahhh.” Mac nodded. “We were with Head, too.” He swung his head to look at Bastard. “Why?”
Bastard clenched his teeth, trying to rein in an ounce of diplomacy. “Well, whoever was talking to her scared her the fuck off. Said some fucked up shit. And that’s not cool.”
Mac’s brow formed a hard line. “Hey. Whatever was said, that’s just the way it is here,” he began. A moment of silence passed, and then he added, “Besides, she probably deserved it, whatever it was.”
Bastard launched toward him, grabbing Mac by the collar. He could barely see straight from the avalanche of anger that overcame him. “What the fuck did you say?”
Mac laughed weakly, holding up his palms. “Bro. Chill. Just cool it. You know what I mean.”
&
nbsp; “What do you mean,” Bastard hissed. Doug was at his side, pulling at his shoulders to get him off Mac. But Bastard stayed steady, never breaking his gaze.
“Nothing.” Mac backpedaled, nervousness creasing his face. “I didn’t mean anything. Just drop it.”
Bastard clenched his fists around the collar of his shirt and then pushed him back into his seat. He stood over him for a moment, watching him, drawing deep breaths.
“You don’t do that shit with her.” Bastard’s neck throbbed, his pulse careening. “She’s carrying my kid.”
Everyone fell quiet. Rock music thrummed in the background while guilty glances coasted between the group.
“How were we supposed to know?” Mac finally muttered, crumpling his beer can. “Coulda been anyone, for all I knew. Fuck, you wanna start asking for name tags at the door?”
Irritation streaked through him. Mac was a newer member; had just been patched in six months earlier. He liked to get drunk and talk shit, and thought he could have any girl he wanted. Between him, Doug and Head, he could see Mac being the real culprit the morning Kit walked away. But really, they were all just as likely to say something offhanded or stupid. Even Bastard.
But things were different now, for better or for worse. And this shit would change. “You need to make it right with her.”
Mac scoffed. “What, she your old lady now?”
“Not yet.” Bastard examined his knuckles, feeling lightheaded from the insurmountable task before him: making things right with Kit. “But she will be. Just gotta make a few things right.”
Doug’s gaze bounced between him and Mac. “Yeah. We can talk to her. I’ll tell Head, too.”
Bastard deflated, relief pulsing through him. It wasn’t much, but it was something. These guys were family, but he couldn’t have them scaring away his actual shot at a blood family. If this thing with Kit was gonna work, she had to be able to count this clubhouse as her home too.
“That means a lot to me,” Bastard mumbled. “I need to make this right.”
“We’ll help you out,” Iron offered, opening his hands. “We’re your brothers. Just let us know when.”
Bastard nodded, scrubbing the heel of his palm against his jaw. “Yeah. That’s the next part I gotta figure out.”
He squeezed Iron’s shoulder and wandered away, just as the front door opened. Rock stomped inside, the club president. As soon as he saw Bastard, he pointed at him with a meaty finger.
“Looking for you,” he said in his trademark rasp.
“What’s up, prez?” Bastard followed him toward the main meeting room, shoving his hands into his pockets. Probably another run. It usually was, when he started off by pointing at him.
“Need you in Mexico,” Rock said as he came to the big wooden table, where all the club meetings and roundups took place. As a nomad, Bastard didn’t have to sit in on the roundups, unless Rock invited him. Sometimes he did, and it was nice to be kept abreast of the goings on of the club here and there. But sitting in on so many meetings reminded Bastard why he preferred the freedom and the solace of being a nomad.
Bastard cleared his throat, running his knuckle along the wood grain of the table. “Okay. What for?”
“Simple pickup,” Rock said, leaning back into his chair. It creaked under his weight. “About forty keys.”
Bastard nodded. Way too much for his bike. “Want me to take the Civic?” It was a pet name for their international vehicle, which was a big utility van outfitted to look like a plumbing company. Usually it was Bastard who drove it, so they had registered it to his name and even forged the company under his likeness as well. Worked like a charm every time too. Must be something about him that screamed plumber.
“Yeah, gonna have to.” Rock ran a hand through his hair. “This is for the Calicos.” A smalltime cartel growing in power, a solid contact for the Damned Devils. “They want you in Tijuana by Thursday.”
Bastard nodded. So he had two days until he had to leave. “Okay. No problem. Consider it done.”
Rock tapped his fist against the table. “You ever think about coming back to the club?”
Bastard grimaced. He’d been a part of this founding chapter of the Damned Devils, a regular member with regular duties. But he’d only lasted a year and a half before striking out as a nomad. Now, three years into being a nomad, it was the lifestyle he preferred. But all the questions and unknowns with Kit had him considering what would be best anymore.
“I dunno.” Bastard sunk into a chair. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”
“I know you’d get voted back in.” Rock sniffed, his weary gaze settling on Bastard. “But I know you love all the travel too.”
“Yeah. I sure do.” Bastard paused, considering his next words. He hadn’t wanted to share his business with the brothers yet, but it seemed he just couldn’t keep it under wraps. “You know…I’m expecting a kid.”
Rock’s brows shot upward. “Really? Shit, were you trying for one? Did I miss something?”
“No.” Bastard drew an invisible map with his finger on the tabletop. “Just happened recently. Met a girl, and…”
Rock chuckled. “Yeah, that’s usually how it happens, ain’t it? Congratulations, brother.”
“Thanks.” Anxiety cinched his chest. It was so early, still. So many things could go wrong. But he’d try like hell to make sure Kit had what she needed. “So basically, I need more gigs. If that means I come back fulltime, I’ll do it. I just wanna be able to support my girl.”
My girl. The words made a strange heat blossom inside his chest. It felt good to say it. But would she ever actually be his girl? For now, it was just a fantasy his brothers believed. He still had to get Kit on board. If she’d ever let him back in.
Rock nodded slowly, assessing him with steely eyes. “Definitely. Happy to hear that, too. You know I’ll keep you in mind. You’re one of the most solid guys we’ve got. I want to help you any way I can.”
Bastard swallowed hard. “Thanks, Rock. I appreciate that, coming from you.”
“I’ll toss in a bonus for the Mexico deal, too. Just because you’re a family man now.”
Bastard cracked a grin. “Hey. Don’t go too far now. I’m just starting out. Gotta ease into everything.” Like making sure Kit would let him within a ten foot radius of her and the baby.
“Sure. But once that baby’s born, you’ll be a slave. Trust me.” Rock laughed. “Ain’t no turning back once they pop out.”
Bastard nodded, pushing to his feet. “Thanks for the advice.”
They bumped fists, and Bastard wandered back out into the clubhouse. It was barely nine p.m., which meant Kit was probably performing by now. Part of him wanted to go back and see her, give it another shot. But maybe space was best for now. Letting things cool before he really tried to pry his way back into her life.
He’d barely cracked open a beer before he realized that no, waiting around was not in his style. Not anymore. Not when it came to her. He took a sip of the ice -cold beer and then bolted out the door, one destination in mind. Even if all it did was let him glimpse her again or make his presence known, that was enough. That was something.
The cool night air flooded his senses on the ride over to the club, his second trip there for the day. After he’d parked, he could hear the low undertones of the band slipping out of the bar as he approached the front door. And once he stepped into the inner set of doors, Kit’s sultry voice had already hooked him like fish.
He pushed into the dark bar, heart in his throat as he waited to glimpse her. Would this ever get old? Could he ever tire of someone like Kit?
Questions like these were new to him, since he’d always just figured that he would tire of anyone after long enough. And maybe it was true. But there was only one way to find out.
He pushed through the standing crowd of people, drawn to the stage like he was caught in a tractor beam. Kit’s throaty tone enveloped him, feeling more like a hug than a live performance. After he’d pushed throu
gh enough people, her gaze swung over to him. Her eyes hardened, but her singing didn’t waver.
“And no there’s nowhere to hide, since you pushed my love aside…”
Bastard relished the thrill running through him as he watched her belt out the low tempo, modern remake of Hopelessly Devoted.
