CONTROL: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Blackened Souls MC)

by Naomi West

  Pistol glanced at Katrin, who was watching him sharply, as if the appearance of this new tattooed biker confirmed what she’d suspected all along — that Pistol was bad news, and she was better off not getting involved.

  Hell. This little assignment of Kong’s sounded easy enough. Maybe he’d be back in time to make an actual pass at Katrin.

  “Sorry,” he told her, forcing a grin. “Gotta run.” He wanted to ask if she planned on sticking around awhile, but he didn’t want to sound too desperate.

  Katrin simply nodded. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

  That was it?

  What’d I expect? We’ve known each other all of ten minutes.

  She glanced back at the screen. Pistol followed her gaze, watched the Orioles score a run. Damn, she was a tough nut to crack. He’d definitely stop in again later, see if she was still here.

  For now, he said, “Yeah, you too,” and headed back to the table to grab his leather jacket.

  Chapter Three

  “I’m home!” Katrin called as she entered the one-story stucco house. Their home was deceptively modest; looked almost small on the outside. But inside it was furnished elegantly and expensively — natural wood furniture, stainless steel appliances. It had a very different feel from their condo in Ohio, but Katrin thought that, given time, she could learn to love it.

  She was a little nervous about school. The nursing program at UR was rigorous, but she’d made a couple of friends on Facebook who were going to be in her program. And, naïve as it might sound, she believed she was doing worthy work. Her mother’s nurses at the Cleveland Clinic had been wonderful — the only people capable of reassuring Katrin without it sounding false or overly optimistic. And they’d brought Jess Smith so many thoughtful little things that had made her more comfortable — puzzles, magazines, extra blankets, books. Katrin wanted to help people. Make them more comfortable. Get them on the road to wellness or else ease their transition from this world into the next.

  “Hello?” she called, checking the kitchen. Usually her father called a greeting as soon as he heard her come in.

  The house felt empty. She rapped softly on his bedroom door. No answer.

  He must not be home.

  She went back to the kitchen, made herself some tea, and slumped at the table, waiting for the tea to cool. Her mind wandered to the man she’d met at the bar. Pistol, his friend had called him. She shook her head, smiling slightly. She knew the type — overgrown boy, obsessed with his big, loud toys. Probably saw Katrin — demure, buttoned-up Katrin — as a challenge. Had probably slept with every woman in Rialto.

  She didn’t need to waste time with a guy like that.

  Except…

  God, he’d been hot. And honestly, she’d never really had a chance to explore her sexuality. Never had a one night stand, had never done anything even remotely kinky…

  She made a face.Explore her sexuality. That sounded like something from some sex-ed video. She’d just … there’d been one guy when she was eighteen — a handsome but bland poly-sci major. Shortly after that, her mother had been diagnosed, and Katrin had thought of nothing but caring for her for the next four years. She’d spent those years in and out of school, driving four hours up to Cleveland every weekend when her mom was at the clinic.

  She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about that right now. She wanted to think about Pistol. Those bulging, tattooed arms. Faded jeans, worn almost thread thin at the creases near his groin. His cocky grin, the smile lines around his blue-grey eyes … okay, so he’d sort of been an arrogant, entitled asshole, but she’d dealt with worse. And she couldn’t deny that one look at him had made her pussy clench, had gotten her dripping wet.

  And the fact that he had a bike…

  God, she wanted to ride.

  What she’d told him was true: Her dad wouldn’t approve of his daughter on a motorcycle. Too dangerous. To loud, too … improper. Her father did have some mildly old-fashioned notions about gender roles. He was far from a perfect man, but particularly after Jess’s death, Katrin had needed him. And he’d needed her.

  She glanced at her phone. A text from Jenna, one of the Facebook friends. Katrinhad promised to go out with her sometime once she got to town.You doing anything tonight?

  She wished she’d gotten Pistol’s number. Then she’d be doing something tonight, that was for sure. Riding that big, gruff biker like the machine he was. What had all that stuff been at the end there? When his friend had come over and said something that had made Pistol hightail it out of there? She knew she hadn’t imagined that current in the air between him. She genuinely believed he’d wanted to stay, wanted to take things further with her.

  But the brotherhood had called. She rolled her eyes. She didn’t know much about biker gangs, except that some of them could be damned scary.

  Think I’ll just stay in, she texted back.I’m pretty beat.

  Okay. A bunch of us are going out dancing if you wanna come.

  Not tonight. She’d already taken Rex from the bar up on his offer for a welcome-to-town drink. And she’d already survived a chat up from Pistol. That was enough socializing for one day. Besides, she couldn’t dance; she just flapped around like a chicken. And people made extra fun of her, because, as her best friend Maddy back in Ohio put it, “someone as elegant as you shouldn’t look like a one of those inflatable thingies outside car dealerships when you dance.”

  Ah, well. People surprised you.

  Maybe, if she’d gotten Pistol’s number. If she’d spent the evening with him, he’d have surprised her.

  She jerked as the back door opened. Her dad walked in.

  “God, you scared me!” she cried.

  Leonard Smith was carrying a stack of empty cardboard boxes. He grinned when he saw her. “My girl! How’d it go today?” He set the boxes down, nudged the backdoor shut with the toe of his worn cowboy boot, and came over to the table to hug her.

  “Pretty good,” Katrin said into his shoulder.

  He straightened. “What’d you get up to?”

  She shrugged. “Went to Hammer and Nailed to take Rex up on that welcome to town drink.”

  She didn’t miss her father’s slight frown. He didn’t mind her going to bars, exactly, but he’d been less than thrilled when Rex had told Katrin yesterday to stop by sometime for a drink. Rex was an old acquaintance of her dad’s — he had come to visit a couple of times in Ohio when Katrin was little. Katrin had always gotten the impression her father didn’t like her interacting with Rex, which was strange, since she’d simply been trying to be polite to her dad’s friend.

  Her dad quickly replaced the frown with a grin. “Rex didn’t try to put the moves on you, did he?”

  “Put the moves on me? Seriously? What decade are you from?”

  “Sorry, sorry. But your old dad likes to know.” Leonard went to the cabinet to grab a glass and filled it with water from the tap. “I gotta look after my gal. Keep you safe.”

  He’d been this way for nearly a year, ever since Katrin’s mother had passed.You’re all I’ve got left. I’d die if anything happened to you. Take care of yourself. Stay with me. Stay with me, even though you’re a fully-grown woman, even though you have plans and dreams of your own. Stay with me — let me protect you even if you don’t want to be protected.

  “Rex didn’t put the moves on me.” She hesitated, wondering if she should divulge this or not. “But someone did.”

  “Oh?” Leonard raised his brows, grinning over the top of his glass. “And who was this?” He drained the rest of the water.

  “I didn’t get his name. But his friend called him Pistol.”Pistol. She wasn’t sure if the nickname gave her a thrill or made her want to roll her eyes.

  That frown was back on her dad’s face. “Pistol?” He set the glass by the sink “You mean Jax Wilson?”

  “You know him?” Katrin asked, surprised.

  “I knowof him.”

  She knew her father had connections in t
his town — he’d acquired his new general store, Pete’s Goods, through Rex — but it still surprised her that he knew Pistol.

  Her dad folded his arms and leaned on the counter. “He’s a biker?”

  “Yes,” she said hesitantly, unsure what her dad’s reaction to that would be.

  He laughed. “So my baby’s got it bad for a bad boy, huh?”

  “Dad!” She could feel herself blushing. “I’m not … all we did was talk.”

  “You said he put the moves on you. That sounds like more than a friendly chat.”

  She laughed too. It felt good — to find these happy moments they could share. There’d been too few of those since her mother had died. “It was just a chat. He’sreally not my type.”

  “Hmm. Yes sir, I’d say my grandbaby’s finally on the way.” Leonard drummed his fingers on the counter.

  “Oh my god, Dad.” There was a genuine edge of irritation in Katrin’s voice, beneath the playfulness. Her dad had wanted a grandchild for ages, but he’d become especially fixated on the idea after Katrin’s mother had died. As many times as Katrin told him she wasn’t ready yet — that she wanted to focus on her studies first — he continued to talk about the day he’d finally have a grandkid. He’d gotten really obsessive about it, to the point where Katrin no longer felt comfortable with the topic of conversation.

  Leonard held up his hands, still grinning. “I’m just happy for you, that’s all. I’m glad you’re getting out, making friends.” His expression grew serious. “That’s important, you know. You’ve been too reclusive these past few months.”

  “I know,” she said softly. It was true. It been hard, pulling the pieces of her life back together.

  “Just be careful,” Leonard warned. “I don’t want you getting anywhere near a motorcycle.”

  “Dad.”

  He came to the table again and kissed the top of her head, like she was a little girl. “Those things are dangerous.” He took a step back, studied her just a moment too long. She wondered if he was seeing traces of Jess Smith in Katrin’s wide, hazel eyes, in her arched black brows. Her small, straight nose. People had always said Katrinwas the spitting image of her mother.If only I had more of her personality, Katrinoften thought.Her sense of adventure, her ability to make friends with anyone. People look at me, and they want to see her. Instead, they see me.

  “I have to get ready,” her dad said abruptly.

  “For what?” She was surprised. She’d assumed he’d want to stay in and finish unpacking. And then maybe they’d watch a movie or something.

  “I have a little errand to run. Nothing too serious. I’ll be back in a little while.”

  She wanted to ask what sort of errand, but Leonard was already heading down the hall to his bedroom, humming to himself. Probably he wanted to go do some more work on the store. He was determined to be open early next week.

  She stayed at the table, staring at her phone, wondering if she should go out with Jenna.

  What she really wanted to do was go back to Hammer and Nailed and look for Pistol — Jax Wilson — again.

  But that was just silly.

  Girls like her didn’t sleep with guys like Jax.

  Girls like her stayed home and played nice.

  Chapter Four

  Ford let out a whoop as they dismounted in front of the clubhouse — an old brick building that had once been a slummy pub. It had originally been sandwiched between two drab, vinyl-sided houses, but the house on the right had been condemned and eventually bulldozed, leaving the Blackened Souls with neighbors on only one side. And the neighbors did so many drugs that the Souls had managed a pretty good live and let live arrangement with them over the past few years.

  The Souls jostled one another through the door. Ford headed straight for the gun case and pulled out his black Ruger. Pistol reached past him for his Glock.

  “We ain’t gonna need the big guns,” Deion said.

  “No,” Pistol agreed, loading a new clip. “But they sure do look purdy.” He stuck the Glock in the back of his waistband.

  Deion punched his arm.

  Kong entered from the back room. “Good, you’re here,” he said brusquely.

  “Man, how’d you even hear about this anyway?” Ford asked Kong. “Pistol was just about to get that girl’s drink thrown in his face. ’Rango and me was lookin’ forward to seeing it.”

  “Bullshit,” Pistol said. “She was totally into me.”

  Kong ignored them. “It’s the old patrol hut. I’m sending you three, plus Mica and Bones.”

  Great. Bones was all right, but nineteen-year-old Mica felt like a tagalong kid brother sometimes. Kong swore Mica worshipped Pistol and Deion, but all Pistol saw when he looked at Mica was a sullen teenager, sent here to make his life hell.

  “Been a while since we had to do a shakedown.” Ford shrugged into his battered brown jacket. “We takin’ any money? Am I finally getting my new bike?”

  Kong glanced at him. “Stop the deal before any money changes hands. Give both parties seven kinds of hell, and then get out of there.” He turned his gaze on Pistol.

  Pistol stuck a cigarette between his lips and flicked on his lighter. “Sounds easy enough.” He lit the cigarette and took a drag.

  Kong gave him a long, hard look. “Be careful.”

  Pistol blew a stream of smoke toward him. “I always am.”

  “I’m serious, Jax. Don’t get reckless.”

  Only Kong could call him by his real name and make him feel about eight years old. Pistol tried not to bristle. “Thought you said this was a simple shakedown.”

  “It is. That doesn’t mean it’s okay to let your guard down.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Don’t be reckless, Jax.”He’d heard that enough at age seventeen to last him a lifetime. “You’ve got potential, but you’re too brash. Learn some patience, some humility. It’ll serve you well.”

  Kongthought he was some combo of Yoda and that old dude fromThe Karate Kid. And all right, maybe he’d been a better mentor to Jax than both of those combined. But Jax hadn’t heeded Kong’s words, not at that age. He’d gotten into every mess he could find — drugs, fights, petty theft. Not just to give himself a rush, but to dare Kong to get pissed, to kick him out.

  He’d been so sure — so fuckin’ sure — that if he pushed hard enough, Kong would snap and beat the shit out of him. Put him out on his ass. Hell, there were a couple of times he’d half expected Kong to march him out to the bike shed and take his belt to him, the way Pistol’s mama had done all those years. But he never had. He’d lost his temper and snapped at Pistol every now and then, but he’d never raised a hand to him. And eventually Pistol had gotten it through his thick teenage skull that he wasn’t doing anyone any favors by acting like this. Especially not himself.

  Maybe that was why he wasn’t a fan of Mica — too much like being followed by a shadow of his old self. A dumb, reckless kid who thought the world owed him something. Mica had been a stray like Pistol, like most of the Souls. And while Mica was his brother, and Pistol’d do whatever it took to defend him, sometimes he wished the kid would stay out of his way.

  Out on the open road, Pistol tried to concentrate on the hum of the machine beneath him. The warm steel of his gun against the small of his back. But all he could think about was Katrin Smith.God, that smile…

  Jesus, what was wrong with him? He’d never gotten sappy about a girl’s smile before. If he couldn’t bang her tonight, he’d bang her some other night. Simple as that.

  Eventually the sense of freedom overtook him. The desert flashed past, deep purples and blues in the dusk. He loved it out here — nothing but scrub and cacti, coyotes and owls. Deion rode up beside him. The sand kicked up by his Harley stung Pistol through his jeans. Deion revved his engine, and Pistol revved back. They raced across the sand, Deion pulling ahead, then Pistol, then Deion… Bones and Ford were off to the left somewhere, and Mica brought up the rear. Pistol was never happier than when he
was riding with his brothers.

  The Blackened Souls had run Rialto and the surrounding towns for the past twelve years. And Kong had guarded this territory even further back than that. Rialto had once been a hotbed of corruption — cocaine, weapons, massage parlor brothels… Kong and a few buddies had run the worst of the riffraff out of town, leaving behind only themselves and the other crims who might come in useful to them.

  They’d formed the Blackened Souls — a close-knit group of six that had expanded quickly. At the same time the Souls worked their magic, gentrification was beginning in Rialto. Pretty soon, the Souls didn’t have much to worry about except a little shit here and there from rival gangs. Jaws’s boys were still trouble on occasion, but mostly the Blackened Souls owned this town. Over the past year or so, that had shifted again. Crime was making a comeback around Rialto, and the Souls had to work hard to ensure that they controlled the crime industry here.