UNTAMED: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Zoey Parker

  “Okay, come on, buddy,” Brent said as he pulled Dylan out of the backseat. “Keep your head down in there, okay? I probably shouldn’t even be bringing you in with me.”

  “I won’t tell,” Dylan said, wrapping his arms back around Brent’s neck. “Mommy told me that good boys never tell what happens to them.”

  Brent paused, then, craning his neck back so he could look Dylan in the eyes as he held him close. “Dylan. Listen to me. Your mommy was wrong, okay? I know that doesn’t make sense right now, but she told you to do things that were bad for you. I won’t do that to you, okay? You can trust me.”

  A little wrinkle popped up between Dylan’s eyebrows, and his eyes narrowed as he whispered, “What does ‘trust’ mean?”

  Brent’s heart ached a little as he formulated a response, pulling Dylan closer to his chest so he could whisper in his ear, “It means you know that someone won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you. Ever. I promise.”

  Dylan pulled back a little, looking up into his father’s eyes uncertainly. “But you’re going to send me away, right?”

  Brent’s jaw dropped open a little and his eyes went wide. His own thoughtless words were rebounding on him like a spiked boomerang. He cleared his throat and shook his head, saying whatever came to his mind in this moment, where everything seemed clearer than they’d been before. “Dylan. I’m not going to do that to you. You have a home now. I’m not going to take it away from you.”

  Dylan stared up at him silently for a long moment, chewing on his bottom lip nervously. Brent couldn’t exactly blame him. He hadn’t been the softest or the sweetest person to the kid over the past several weeks. But he knew now that he would never be able to give him back to Danielle, even if she showed up totally sober the next day. Dylan was his now, a part of him that he couldn’t cut out or ignored. Kira had shown him that much.

  Brent patted Dylan’s head again, hoping to get him to relax a little bit, but it was no use. The little boy was lost without Kira and Lucian. Brent realized that it was futile to try to make the little boy forget what was going on. He was too smart, having lived through too much in his short life so far that he couldn’t be deceived that easily. He needed to know the truth.

  “Dylan,” Brent said. He brushed some of his hair away from his forehead, a move that he’d seen Kira do a couple times at dinner a few weeks ago. “We’re going to get them back, okay? I swear to you. I’m not going to stop fighting until we’ve got them both home.”

  Dylan was staring down at the floor now, silent for several long moments until he finally looked up, his eyes now full of tears. “Why?” Dylan whispered hoarsely, his tearful eyes unblinking as they looked at Brent for an answer.

  The answer came to Brent’s mouth before his brain had even processed it. He supposed the reply came straight from his heart. “Because we’re a family. Families look out for each other. It’s what we do.”

  A couple tears fell from Dylan’s eyes then, splattering his cheeks. Brent reached forward and wiped the tears away with his thumb, forcing a gentle smile for his son’s benefit. He had to be strong. For Dylan. For Kira and Lucian, too, he realized. We’re all in this together. I can’t stop until we’re all home, safe.

  He clutched Dylan close to his chest then walked to the back entrance of the Soul Catchers clubhouse, taking the steps to the back door. He dug around in his pocket for his key. “That’s weird,” he said to himself as he stuck the key into the lock and turned the knob. The doorknob refused to turn. “Maybe I picked out the wrong key.” He tried again, with another key to the clubhouse, but that one didn’t work either. “What the fuck?” he whispered out loud. His hand trembled a little as he went through all of the keys one by one, trying each multiple times to see if one would open the door. None of them worked.

  Brent sighed, feeling incredibly annoyed. He used his free hand to bang on the door as hard as he could. “Yo! It’s Brent! Let me in!”

  Several seconds passed before someone moved on the other side of the door, noisily bumbling around for a few moments before finally opening it. “What do you want?” the crabby old lady snapped, her eyes narrowed into slits. Brent recognized her from the clubhouse kitchen.

  “Just let me in,” Brent said, shoving past the old lady on his way into the clubhouse. He hitched Dylan up higher onto his shoulder as he headed deeper inside. “You seen Milton around?” he yelled over his shoulder in the vague direction of the old woman.

  “Hasn’t shown up for days,” the old woman said back as she slammed the back door closed.

  “Great, thank you,” Brent said sarcastically. He sighed deeply as he turned a corner, heading into the hallway where his office was located. “I guess I’ll just have to dig his number out of the records in my office.”

  When he got to his office door, he placed Dylan carefully on the floor before reaching into his pocket again. He knew for a fact that the smallest key on the chain was for this door, at least. But again, when he tried to fit the key into the lock, it didn’t work. “What the hell?” he whispered out loud to himself, trying the handle of the door to see if it was unlocked. “Fuck,” he muttered as he tried the handle again and again, each time with no luck.

  “What’s wrong?” Dylan asked, looking up at him with worry.

  Brent swallowed around the lump in his throat, nodding to himself, trying to calm down. “Nothing, it’s nothing. We’ll be out of here in a few minutes, okay?” he said to Dylan. He rubbed the top of the boy’s head again and gestured for the child to follow him back down the hallway, where the old woman was still stacking plates in the closet behind the kitchen.

  “You’re still here?” the woman said. She glanced at Brent and Dylan through the corner of her eye.

  “Yeah, why doesn’t my key work? Did Howie authorize a security change or something?” he asked. Some of the MC’s rivals had been ramping up their activities lately, so it would make sense if his second in command had taken some extra steps to make sure the clubhouse couldn’t be infiltrated.

  “Nobody told you?” the woman said, finally turning to face him full on. “I guess that explains why they bothered having the locksmith come in and change everything. Personally, I would’ve just made you hand over your keys and not changed anything at all, but then again, what do I know? Nobody listens to me.”

  “What are you talking about?” Brent asked. A surge of anxiety made his blood pump faster within his veins.

  “The club’s done with you,” the woman said, shrugging as she turned back to her pile of plates. “I thought you were just here to get your stuff and go.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” Brent asked, his voice rising along with the fear that wrapped around his heart.

  “Jethro’s in charge now,” the old woman said, referring to one of the junior members who’d only joined the MC in the last year. “He wants you out of the place before morning. Don’t let him find you. I don’t want to have to clean up any blood. Don’t make my job harder than it has to be.”

  “Jethro…” Brent said, thinking out loud. He honestly struggled to come up with a mental image of the man. All he knew was that he was a younger guy who’d been on a couple successful drug runs, but he’d never spoken to the guy before. Yet apparently this Jethro guy had pulled a coup, convincing enough members of the MC to flip over on Brent and allow him to change the locks of the whole clubhouse so that Brent couldn’t come and go as he pleased.

  “They’ll be wanting your kutte back,” the old woman said, struggling to lift a stack of plates and put it up on the shelf against the wall. “You might as well turn it over now so you don’t have to come back later.”

  “Like hell,” Brent said reflexively. There was no way in hell he was giving up his kutte, the jacket that he’d earned when he became a full-fledged member of the Soul Catchers. He’d sooner give up his actual balls before he let anyone take the symbol of his own strength and accomplishment away from him.

  “Suit yourself,” the old woman said with anothe
r shrug. “It’s no skin off my nose, as they say. I just figured you’d want some friendly advice, that’s all. Anyway, you’re luckier than you know.”

  “How’s that?” Brent asked out of curiosity. His head felt clouded and fuzzy, like he’d had several drinks. Nothing felt real, the world around him blurring together as he tried to accept the facts that were presented in front of him. He wasn’t the president of the Soul Catchers anymore. He wasn’t a leader. He was a chump. How the hell had this happened?

  The old woman turned to look at him again, grinning maliciously. “Most people don’t get to leave peacefully. In my day, presidents of MCs had to fight their way out. They’d cut the tattoos right off their body. But you just get to leave with all your limbs intact. You should count your lucky stars and leave town before Jethro changes his mind.”

  “Yeah, right,” Brent said. He turned to scoop Dylan back up into his arms, holding him close even though his own hands were shaking. “Come on, buddy, we’re leaving.”

  “Don’t come back!” the lady called after him as he headed back out through the back door.

  Brent walked quickly to Kira’s car and hurriedly placed Dylan in the backseat before going back around to the front. “What the fuck?” he muttered under his breath, careful not to alarm Dylan. “What the fuck is going on?”

  For a long moment, he just sat there in the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel if only to have something to hold onto. He didn’t know where to go. He didn’t know what to do. He was on a mission to get a lawyer for Kira, but if the old woman was to believed, he no longer had access to the club attorney. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

  Chapter Twenty

  Kira

  “Foster!”

  Kira jumped up in her bed at the sound of her last name and stumbled to her feet. “Yes?” she asked. She shoved her feet into the shoes that had been provided for her when she was booked at the jail some twelve hours earlier.

  “The public defender is here to speak with you,” the guard on duty said. He unlocked her cell and swung the door open so she could step outside. “This way,” the guard said, pointing.

  “Thank you,” Kira said. She felt like she was about to throw up as she headed back towards the main room of the jailhouse. Before she could make it to the end of the hallway, another guard appeared, gesturing for her to follow him into a side door, where the lawyer was waiting for her.

  “Hello, Ms. Foster.” The public defender was a slick-looking man with thick greasy hair and a sleazy smile. “I’m Ben. Nice to meet you.”

  Kira tried to sit down across from the lawyer, but before she could, the guard put a hand on her shoulder, shoving her down into the seat. He pinned her arms down into the cuffs attached to the table. “Jeez, okay, I get it,” Kira muttered as the guard squeezed her wrists unnecessarily, wordlessly telling her not to start any shit.

  “Can I have a moment alone with my client, please?” Ben asked. He pointed towards the door until the guard disappeared back out into the hallway, slamming the heavy door behind him. “So. This is a real pickle that you’re in, isn’t it?”

  “I guess,” Kira said, flexing her fingers from within the handcuffs. She wished her hands were free. Her face really itched and she was too nervous to ask the lawyer to scratch it for her.

  “Well, in case there’s any confusion, I want to clear things up for you. We’re going to go for a plea deal. Very common. Very normal. I’ve done it a thousand times, so you’re going to be fine,” Ben said. He rifled through a folder of papers on the table in front of him.

  “A plea deal?” Kira repeated, not comprehending the words right away. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that in exchange for a guilty plea, the state will offer…reduced punishment. You won’t have to spend much time in prison, if at all, and maybe if we’re lucky we can get you off with probation, huh? Doesn’t that sound good?” Ben asked, grinning at her like he was telling her that she’d just won the lottery.

  “But I didn’t do anything,” Kira said. A wave of heat flushed its way up from the base of her spine to the back of her neck. “I’m not guilty of anything illegal.”

  “Of course you’re not,” Ben said with an insincere smile. Kira could practically smell the bullshit wafting off of him. “But this is the route we have to take.”

  “Why?” Kira asked. “Why can’t I fight it? I’ve been the main caretaker of Lucian for over a year now, and nothing like this has ever happened before. Why can’t I go to the court and explain what happened?”

  “Because they won’t believe you,” Ben said firmly. The smile faded from his face as he stared at Kira with a hard, intense gaze. “They just won’t, honey. No matter how hard you beg and plead and moan in front of the jury, nobody’s going to look at your cop husband and think that he’s the abuser and you aren’t. Sorry. That’s just the way it is.”

  “But I can get proof!” Kira said, her voice rising as a wave of desperation rose within her chest, her heart pounding furiously. “Lucian will testify. He’ll tell the truth. He’ll say that I never hurt him.”

  “He might,” Ben said, “but there’s still the problem of the signed affidavits.”

  “What?” Kira asked, totally confused.

  “The affidavits. Signed, notarized statements from trustworthy individuals that attest that they have seen you strike your son while you were angry. I’ve been reliably informed by the prosecution that they have numerous such statements in their possession, and they’re willing to use them if you try to go to court.”

  Kira was silent for a long moment, letting the lawyer’s words sink into her mind, feeling dread pool out from the base of her stomach and fill the rest of her body. “But…but what will happen to Lucian if I plead guilty?” she asked as soon as the ability to speak returned to her.

  “He’ll go with his father,” Ben said with a shrug. “I’m sure he’ll be okay. If I work really hard, I might be able to get you visitation rights. Wouldn’t that be nice, having time with your son? I can make it happen if you choose to work with me, Kira.”

  Kira shook her head. Tangy bile rose up through her throat and filled her mouth as she realized the deep shit she was really in. “So he goes to Larry? Larry, the guy who’s really been hitting him or doing God knows what to make him bruise up and have nightmares? That’s the best case scenario that I have to look forward to?” Kira asked.

  Ben sighed deeply, some semblance of sympathy filling his eyes as he slowly nodded his head. “I know it doesn’t sound great, Kira, but it’s really the best that I can offer you. If you don’t cooperate with me, the consequences will be far worse. You might not ever be able to see your child ever again. Do you want that?”

  “No,” Kira said in a low whisper, shaking her head. “But I can’t let him go with his father. Not after all of this…”

  Ben was quiet, tapping his fingers along the top of the table for a minute as he considered what to say. “Well,” he finally said, getting to his feet, “I’ll leave you to think it over. You let me know tomorrow when I come by again to visit you. Consider everything and make your own decision, all right? But just keep in mind what I said. If you don’t take the plea deal…you might not ever see your son again. Consider if you’re willing to live with that. Goodbye.”

  With that, Ben disappeared out into the hallway, the sound of his receding footsteps echoing in Kira’s brain as she considered his final warning. Fuck. I’m totally fucked.

  The guard came back the next moment to usher her out of the meeting room and back into her cell, where her cellmate was still in bed, doodling in a magazine. Kira went back to sit on her bed. She stared blankly at the grey wall across the room, willing the universe to give her a sign to tell her what to do.

  “You got the public defender?” It took Kira a couple seconds before she realized that she hadn’t imagined the sound of a question aimed in her direction. Her cellmate was now looking over at her, an expectant look in her eyes.

  �
��Yeah, yeah, I did,” Kira said, clearing her throat and nodding for good measure. She thought it would make her feel better, saying it out loud, but instead she felt more insecure, her body prickling with heat as she thought about the smarmy man who was in control of her fate.

  Her cellmate shook her head and scribbled harder on her magazine. “Too bad for you,” she said, rolling over onto her side.

  “Why? What do you mean?” Kira asked. She straightened up on the bed, now fully alert despite the despair that lingered in her chest.

  Her cellmate sighed and placed her feet on the ground, slowly adjusting her body so that she was sitting up, facing Kira head on. “This your first time in the joint?”

  Kira hesitated answering, but then finally she nodded in response to her cellmate’s question.

  “Ah, I see,” her cellmate said, shaking her head sadly. “You look richer than most of the people that I see coming in here. Can’t you afford a cheap lawyer? Anybody’s better than the public defender.”