He Doesn’t Care_A Bad Boy Secret Baby Motorcycle Club Romance

by Naomi West

  Fantasies’ bosses? she asked herself.

  She had no idea if that was a good thing or not.

  Another few moments passed as Charlie paced back and forth through the living room, muttering to himself. Then, a sharp knock on the front door cut through the still air.

  “Oh no, oh no,” said Charlie over and over again, his head in his hands.

  Another knock.

  “Open up in there, you fuck,” called out a deep, stern voice.

  “Goddammit!” shouted Charlie as he raced over to the door and threw it open.

  Over her shoulder, Honey saw the slender frame of a middle-aged man with close-cropped silver hair standing at the door. He was dressed in a well-tailored white suit with a black tie. He stood with the sort of confidence of a man with plenty of power.

  “Van Graff!” shouted Charlie. “Uh, good to see you!”

  A long moment passed.

  “You gonna let me in?” asked the man.

  “Sure, sure!”

  The man entered with slow strides, his hands clasped behind his back. Honey watched as his eyes snapped onto her right away, and Honey could make out the man’s handsome features. He had on a pair of thick-rimmed, circle glasses and there was a tattoo of a blue rose on his neck. He squatted down a bit and looked at Honey as though she was a piece in a museum.

  “I’ll save the question of why you have a fucking girl tied up in your living room for a little later,” said the man. “What’s your name, sweet thing?”

  “H-Honey,” she said.

  “Ha,” said the man. “A fitting name.”

  He extended his hand and Honey took it.

  “Emile Van Graff,” he said, shaking her hand warmly. “Am I to assume that you’re one of the lovely young ladies in our employ?”

  “Yes,” said Honey in a weak voice.

  “Then I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

  The man turned towards Charlie and looked down for a brief moment, as though trying to collect his thoughts. Through the open door, Honey could spot a half-dozen men all dressed in sleek suits and all wielding rifles.

  Finally, Emile spoke.

  “You want to tell me why the fuck Fantasies is a smoldering fucking conflagration right now?” he yelled, his previously calm voice long gone. “I know the answer, Charlie, and it’s because you’re a junkie fuck-up. But I’d really, really like to hear it straight from the goddamn stupid horse’s fucking mouth!”

  “It’s not what it looks like!” shouted Charlie in response, his demeanor looking like he expected Emile to swat him like an unruly puppy at any moment.

  “Not what it looks like? Not what it fucking looks like? I trusted you with this operation, Charlie. I saw that you’d been running Fantasies like a tight ship for a while and figured that you were ready and hungry for more opportunity. The other bosses didn’t feel the same way, of course; they all thought that you were a junkie fuck-up who couldn’t be trusted to run a goddamn lemonade stand! But I told them that you were ready. And now who looks like the fucking asshole?”

  “Sorry, sorry!” shouted Charlie. “Just give me the chance to make things right! Please!”

  “Your chances are fucking over, friend,” said Emile, lowering his voice.

  Then he turned to Honey and looked at her with his piercing gray eyes.

  “Now, tell me why you’ve got a fucking stripper tied up in your goddamn living room! I assume this isn’t some fucking kink bullshit.”

  “You gotta let me explain,” said Charlie. “That girl, that fucking girl’s been working with the Vandals. The fucking Vandals! She’s been spying on me this whole time!”

  Emile didn’t take his eyes off of Honey.

  “Is that true, young lady?”

  Honey didn’t see the point in lying.

  “It is,” she said, her voice barely audible.

  “See!” shouted Charlie. “It’s not my fault! It was her this whole time!”

  Before he could say another word, Emile pulled his hand back and slapped Charlie hard across the face, sending the man stumbling backward.

  “Not your fault? You want to tell me how having some braindead stripper spying on you right under your nose isn’t your fault? And now we’ve got the goddamn Vandals on our asses? You know, Charlie, I was already pretty fucking steamed about all this, and you’ve somehow, someway, managed to get me even more pissed off.”

  “What … what are you gonna do?” asked Charlie. “Are you gonna kill me?”

  Emile chuckled.

  “You should be so fucking lucky,” he said. “No, I’m not gonna kill you; I’m just gonna take you over to the bosses and let them decide just how you’re gonna pay for this little fuck-up of yours. Maybe if you’re lucky, they’ll let you keep both of your thumbs.”

  Charlie’s expression twisted into one of pure terror.

  “No, no!” he shouted, dropping to his knees. “You can’t do this! Please, just let me get in my truck and leave. I don’t even need to pack. I’ll just drive off and you’ll never see me again! I’ve got money; you want money? I can give you ten thousand in cash right now!”

  Then he turned to Honey.

  “And her!” he shouted, pointing a twitching finger in Honey’s direction. “You can have her; you can do whatever you want with her! She’s just some slut, anyway!”

  “Such chivalry, Charlie,” said Emile. “But no—I’m going to have to refuse your deal. Do I look like a man who’s hard-up for money? Ten thousand is nothing to me. I’d pay ten times that just to see you suffer for what you’ve put me through.”

  But then Emile’s gaze locked onto Honey.

  “But this sweet little thing, on the other hand. Yeah, I think I’ll take you up on that. Don’t get me wrong—you’re not getting anything in exchange for her; she’s just mine now.”

  Emile strolled over to Honey, placed his hands on his knees, and looked her over like merchandise.

  “I think I can get some good use out of you, cute thing,” he said, dragging the tip of his finger over her face. “Maybe sell you for a few hundred K to one of our clients, maybe give you to the other bosses as some new meat, or maybe just stick you back in a strip club. Who knows? But not until I’ve had my fun with you first.”

  Another tear darted down Honey’s face. She’d allowed herself to feel just a little relieved when the boss showed up, and now it felt to her like she was going from a bad situation to a worse one.

  “Now, get your ass on up, Charlie,” said Emile, turning his attention back to him. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, and I don’t want you showing up to the bosses as a weeping, strung-out mess. But then again, maybe they’ll like that a little better. Who knows? Because, trust me, they’re ready to see you squirm just as much as I am.”

  Charlie whimpered to himself for just a little, his body curled into a tight ball. But Honey did her best to remain stoic, though she could help but let a few tears slip down her cheeks.

  “Look at you,” said Emile. “Pathetic. This fucking piece of ass over here is keeping it together better than you.”

  But before he could say another word, Charlie sprang up from his position, rushed over to the gun where it lay on the couch, and snatched it up. With a quick motion, he pointed it at Emile, his hand shaking with fear, adrenaline, and whatever drugs were still in his system.

  “I’ll do it!” he shouted. “I’ll fucking kill every motherfucker here!”

  Emile only shook his head in frustration.

  “Charlie, you’re fucked,” he said. “Just put that thing down and come with us before you get yourself into any more trouble.”

  Honey let out a little whimper. Charlie was clearly at the end of his rope, and she had no idea what he was capable of.

  He pointed the gun at Honey.

  “How about this?” shouted Charlie. “I put a fucking bullet in her, then you’ve got some dead pregnant bitch to worry about!”

  “She’s pregnant?” asked Emile.

 
; “Yeah!” shouted Charlie. “And with the baby of the fucking guy who torched Fantasies!”

  Honey’s stomach sank.

  “This … is an interesting development,” said Emile. “Is that true, beautiful?”

  Honey nodded sadly. She didn’t have it in her to even muster the strength to lie.

  “See! See!” shouted Charlie. “You can use her to get to Grit, the fucker who did this! That’s gotta be worth something, right?”

  “Let’s say it’s worth shaving five minutes off the hours of torment you’ve got to look forward to,” said Emile. “You just need to accept that you’re fucked, Charlie. Nothing short of unburning that shitty club of yours is gonna save you now.”

  Then he turned his attention to Honey once again.

  “But this is a very, very interesting development,” said Emile. “Don’t worry, darling—I’m not a barbarian; I’d never kill a pregnant woman.”

  He looked away for a moment, as if considering something.

  “But that doesn’t mean I can’t use … other methods to use you to lure out this Grit fellow.”

  He reached down and took Honey’s hand into his and began rubbing the top of it with his thumb.

  “Such nice hands,” he said. “And such long, graceful fingers. I bet if I took off a knuckle a week and sent it to the Vandals, it wouldn’t be long before your Grit came begging to turn himself in.”

  “Grit would never beg,” Honey hissed. “He’s a better man than you’ll ever be.”

  “Well,” said Emile. “It’s a good thing then that I’m not too concerned with being the better man. Just a very, very wealthy one.”

  He let Honey’s hand drop as he turned abruptly towards the door.

  “Okay, enough of this bullshit,” he called out to the men outside. “Come on in here and get our cargo ready. I wanna be back in my fucking penthouse in an hour. Get to it!”

  He clapped his hands and summoned his men to work. But before they could hurry into the house and collect Honey and Charlie, Honey heard something off in the distance.

  It was a low rumbling, sounding to Honey at first like the trundling of a faraway truck down a city street. But as the seconds passed, the sound grew in intensity until it became a roar just off in the distance.

  “Now, just what the hell is that?” asked Emile.

  “It’s …” started Charlie, realizing just what it was at the exact moment that Honey did. “It’s the fucking Vandals!”

  At that instant it became clear that the sound was that of a swarm of motorcycles coming down the road. The men outside began to clamor, and through the window, Honey saw them pull their weapons and prepare for a fight.

  “Aw, shit,” said Emile. “Take cover!”

  He slipped a pearl-handled, silver pistol out of the inside of his jacket and took cover by the window. The engines of the bikes grew to a roar that pounded the thoughts out of Honey’s mind. But deep within her heart, a gladness grew, a joy at the fact that her man had come for her.

  “They’re here!” shouted one of the men.

  The pop of gunshots rang out, and Honey’s heart pounded again. Through the window, she watched as a pair of the guards that Emile had arrived with dropped to the ground from Grit and his men’s bullets. The headlights from the bikes could be seen cutting through the night air in front of the house, and soon after, Honey could spot the figures of the Vandals as they skidded their bikes to a halt, hopped off of them, and took cover. Soon, the Vandals and Emile’s gang were in the middle of a fierce gunfight.

  A bullet cracked through one of the front windows of the house and hit the ceiling above Honey with a thwap. She gasped at the sight, realizing that the angle had brought it only a few feet from her head. She knew that she had to get to cover, and fast. Emile was blind-firing his gun through the window, and Charlie was still hunched over with his hands on his head. Honey realized that if she was going to make a move, now was the time.

  The gunfire popping all around her, Honey rocked side-to-side in her chair until it toppled over to her left, placing her hand right near a scattering of broken glass from when the bullet shot through the window. She fumbled to grab a shard, taking care not to cut her fingers on the razor-sharp ends of it. Once the shard was in her hand, she worked it around until she got it in a position to cut through the restraints that kept her bound to the chair.

  “Honey!” shouted out the gruff voice of Grit through the din of gunfire. “You in there?”

  “I’m here!” shouted Honey, her heart singing as she called out to her man.

  “I’m comin’ for you! Stay put!”

  “I will!”

  But Honey had no intention of staying right where she was. She worked the glass through the rope, and soon she had one hand free. Moments later, the ropes were all cut through, and she was free. But now she was confronted with the fact that bullets were whizzing all around her.

  Her heart pounding, she looked around and tried desperately to plan her next move.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Grit

  “Get down, now!” shouted Grit as he grabbed the back of Razor’s collar and pulled him down to cover behind Grit’s bike.

  The move was just in time, as a hail of bullets screamed above right where Razor had been only a split-second ago.

  With a look of realization of what had almost happened painted on his face, Razor spoke.

  “Fuck!” he yelled. “You saved my ass, boss!”

  Grit didn’t have time for thank-yous.

  “Just get back in there!”

  His gun in hand, Grit popped back over his bike and fired off a couple more rounds, both of them going wide and slamming into the side of one of the luxury SUVs that was parked on the lawn of Charlie’s place.

  Just who the fuck are these guys? thought Grit as he ducked back behind cover. I fucking doubt Charlie has his own security detail; they’ve gotta be his bosses.

  But he knew he didn’t have time to think. Taking a quick look around, he spotted the rest of his men under cover nearby, all of them exchanging gunfire with the security team. Grit kept an eye on the house, knowing that Honey was inside and hoping that she was staying as far away from the fight as she could.

  He waited just a bit more for the men to reload, holding fast behind his bike as the chatter of automatic gunfire cut through the night air. He locked eyes with his men, and with just a glance in each of their directions, he got them on the same page. This wasn’t the first gunfight that he and the Vandals had been in, and they knew by this point how to operate like a well-oiled military unit. Even Gray and Killian, the newbies, were on the ball.

  Grit held up a hand as more machine gun fire sounded, and as soon as it stopped, Grit clenched his hand into a fist. The men got the message and sprang up and out of cover. The Vandals opened fire with pistols and shotguns, the bullets panging into the sides of the cars, several of them hitting home and ripping through the fancy suits of the security team members. Nearly all of them dropped, and only a pair of men remained.

  “Fuckin’ got ’em!” shouted Killian, pumping his fist.

  But Grit knew that until the entire team was wiped out and Honey was in his arms, any celebration would be premature. He could hear the panic from the remaining team members as they struggled to reload their guns and make a desperate last stand.

  “Grit!” shouted Honey, her voice desperate. “Help!”

  Fuck, thought Grit. Gotta get in there fast; no time for fucking around.

  He gave Razor a quick slap on the thigh.

  “Yo, give me your pistol,” said Grit.

  Razor nodded and handed over the sleek black weapon. A pistol in each hand, Grit took a deep breath and prepared himself. Seconds later, he popped back out over his bike and, taking aim at a guard with each of his guns, he opened fire. The guns popped, one after the other, and each of them did their bloody work. The two remaining guards dropped, and the fight was over. For now, at least.

  Grit held fast behind th
e bike for another few moments, making sure that there weren’t any more guards waiting to fire. But after a few minutes, he was confident that he’d done what needed to be done.

  “Honey, you okay?”

  “I’m fine, but there’s more in here!”

  Fuck! thought Grit.

  He stood up from behind the bike, guns in hand, as he made his way towards the house. But before he could go too far, the door opened and a man in a slick suit and round glasses emerged, followed by Charlie. And in Charlie’s arms was Honey, a gun to her head.