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

by Naomi West

  She heard the crack of the plastic bottle as the suction stopped. He let out a satisfied sigh and turned toward her. “You think I’m dirty?” It was said teasingly, but there was an edge to the words she didn’t appreciate.

  God help me, I don’t know how much longer I can survive this “marriage.” I’m either going to fuck him or stab him.

  She tried to lighten her tone. “I do. Totally dirty. Go one, wash up.”

  She gestured to the sink with the knife.

  “Whoa. You look dangerous with that thing.”

  You have no idea.

  He passed a little too close behind her — deliberately? She wasn’t sure which got on her nerves more — when they both acted formal and polite toward each other, avoiding being in the same room as often as possible. Or when he started making bids for her attention. Because she didn’t know how to treat him when he tried to engage her. Like a friend? Like a fellow hostage?

  Like a husband?

  He made it sound like we were in this together. Him and me against my father. But we’re not, are we? He’s my father’s pawn. And given what kind of money he’s making, he probably likes it that way.

  He washed his hands, shaking them dry and flinging water everywhere. She held her tongue.

  She thought he was going to leave the room. Instead, he hovered for a moment. “Need any help?” he asked.

  She was shocked. Pleasantly shocked. He was actually offering to help her cook? “Actually, yeah. If you want to chop those mushrooms, I’ll get the sauce going.”

  They worked side by side in companionable silence. Pistol seemed a little unsure how to chop veggies, but he did his best, and soon dinner was well underway.

  “Kinda early isn’t it? For eating?” He reached past her to add some cabbage to the skillet. That jolt again. Katrin could have grabbed him right there, ripped his shirt off, and started licking him everywhere.

  Not appropriate, not appropriate, not appropriate…

  “Uh, Katrin?”

  Dammit. She shook her head, trying to clear it. “Oh, um, yes. A little early. But I was … hungry.”

  When he didn’t respond right away, she glanced at him. He raised an eyebrow, but then went back to monitoring the rice.

  Great choice of words, Katrin.

  Focus, she needed to focus.

  “I, uh…” She wiped her forehead with her arm. Why was she so hot? It wasn’t that warm in here — they had the AC on, and the kitchen was well ventilated. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom. Just … keep stirring that.”

  She nearly bolted from the kitchen. In the bathroom, she splashed water on her face. Stared at herself in the mirror, watching the water drip from her skin.

  Get ahold of yourself, girl.

  What would Maddy think if she could see Katrin now? Maddy had always teased her about her prudishness. It was easy to make Katrinblush with a sex joke or a tease about which guy at the bar she should go hit on.And now here I am, sharing a house and a bed with a giant, tattooed biker with the hottest body I’ve ever seen. He’s helping me cook for God’s sake. He may be a criminal; he may be a reminder of the corner my dad’s got me backed into, but goddamn. Maddy, I need to share this with you.

  For a second, she fantasized about texting Maddy. She’d gotten a couple of texts from her in the weeks since the wedding. But she always replied with only vague details about how she was doing.I should call her. Message her. Something.

  But if she asks, it’ll be too tempting to tell her what’s going on. And if my dad finds out I’m getting in touch with old friends…

  She felt queasy again. Her father had never explicitly stated what would happen if she went against his wishes. But it didn’t take much imagination.

  I’ll get out of this. I will.

  She heard Pistol whistling in the kitchen, the tune loud enough to be heard over the sizzling of the stir-fry.

  What if I don’t entirely want out?

  What if there is some good in this whole mess?

  She pictured Pistol’s dirty socks n their bedroom. The way he spent hours a day sometimes tending to his bike. Her resolve hardened once more.

  Just because he’s hot as hell doesn’t mean we’re at all compatible. I’ll be out of here at the first opportunity. I’m not going to stay and get fuckingbred to him.

  She wiped her face on the hand towel and left the bathroom.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Pistol was dying. He had a serious case of constant blue balls, and it was only gonna get worse if he kept sharing a house with Katrin. Katrin and her tight skirts and blouses that made her look like a sexy librarian or some shit. Katrin who wore pumps with low heels, even though she wasn’t in some office somewhere – she was just walking around the house. Making dinner or watering the plants or checking her phone… He could hear her coming a mile away just by the sound of those heels on the hardwood floors. And he got hard each time he heard the sound.

  Sometimes she went barefoot. She had these small, perfect, elegant feet. Toenail polish that was, like, some kind of light purple. Lavender? Whatever it was, it was flawless, never a chip in it.

  And God, sharing a bed with her … it was torture. He’d lie there sometimes after she’d gone to sleep, erection tenting the covers, fantasizing that she’d suddenly wake up reach for him. Tell him she’d been dying to fuck him for weeks. Sometimes he’d get up, go to the downstairs bathroom — so there was no chance of her hearing him — and jerk off to the fantasy.

  It didn’t help that the rest of his life was all up in the air too. Every club meeting, there seemed to be more and more tension among the Blackened Souls. Some of Smith’s contacts across the border had proven useful, and the club’s bottom line had increased significantly. But no one was happy. Smith cast a long shadow, and he’d started sending his men on ride-alongs with the Blackened Souls. Ford had been particularly pissed about that, but since Kong hadn’t objected, he’d kept his mouth shut too.

  The brotherhood was nervous, and Pistol wasn’t sure what to do for them. At the auto shop, Deion was often quiet, his usual spark gone. There was no more talk of riding up to Three Sisters. The only one who really seemed okay with the whole situation was Mica, who was getting to go on more and more missions despite his inexperience. He was thrilled about the increased profits, and openly sneered at the others when they expressed doubt over whether it was all worth it.

  When Pistol stepped into the clubhouse for Thursday night’s meeting, relieved for the chance to get out of the house, where Katrin was walking around in a particularly tight pencil skirt, he nearly did a double take.

  Leonard Smith was sitting in Kong’s usually chair, surrounded by goons. A few of the Blackened Souls were hanging around the walls, looking uneasy, not sure where they should sit.

  Leonard met Pistol’s gaze and smiled. “Ah, Jax. Good to see you. It’s been a while.”

  Pistol glowered at Leonard Smith. He couldn’t stand this fake chummy shit Smith pulled. He continued to stare at Leonard, who finally looked away, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Where is everyone? This is a rather … important meeting.”

  Kong leaned against the wall, looking older and more haggard than Pistol had ever seen him. “They’ll be here. We don’t usually have a set time for meetings. Just whenever people can get here.”

  Leonard checked his expensive watch. “I don’t have a lot of time this evening,” he said imperiously.”

  “Too bad,” Ford muttered.

  Leonard ignored him, though Pistolthought he saw the man’s jaw twitch. “I suppose we can get started. Do fill your absentbrothers in later.” He said the word “brothers” with a slight sneer.

  Leonard leaned back, hands on his knees. Yeah, this guy had read all the self-help books about how to take up space in a room and assume a “CEO stance” and whatever the fuck. He just looked like a pathetic douche. For the thousandth time, Pistol cursed himself for going along with the guy. For not knowing his own fucking enemy. For not
knowing how far Smith’s reach extended, how many men he had at his disposal.

  If we cut the head off the beast, does it grow a new one? Or does the body flop around and eventually die?

  Smith straightened one pant leg. “I have a large stash coming in. The first part arrives tomorrow. It’s only a fraction of the total goods. Some of you will go pick it up. If all goes well, you’ll accompany my men when they pick up the much larger haul in a couple of weeks.” He glanced around the room, finger under his chin as though giving this deep consideration. “You.” He pointed at Mica. “You’ll go.”

  Mica preened little.

  You little fucker, Pistolthought.Have you forgotten that he fucking shot you?

  “And you two.” Leonard indicated Ford and Hap, another club member.

  Ford glared at Smith. “I got club business to take care of here tomorrow. I ain’t going riding.”

  “Oh my. I’m so sorry to hear that.” Leonard didn’t sound sorry at all. “Unfortunately, you’ll have to put all that on hold. Any ‘club business’ is now my business, you understand. And this shipment takes precedence.”

  Ford’s jaw literally dropped. He turned to Kong. “Boss?” He said the word pointedly, emphasizing to Leonard that he still considered Kong his leader. Or challenging Kongto actuallybe a boss and stand up to the fucker.

  Kong’s expression remained stoic.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Katrin couldn’t take it anymore. The sink was full of dishes. Plates covered in congealed food. The chef’s knife. Mugs with coffee-stained bottoms. The dirty dishes were blocking the drain, and so everything sat in several inches of murky water full of food chunks.

  God damn him.

  She’d been telling him for days to do the dishes. That she wasn’t going to do them for him this time. She hated, hated sounding like a nagging wife — that wasn’t the life she’d envisioned for herself at all, and she resented him for forcing her to sound like one. And every time she asked — politely as she could — he replied that he’d do them soon, that she didn’t have to worry.

  I can’t do it, can’t be shut up in this messy house all day with nothing but my own thoughts. I either need him to be a partner to me — he doesn’t have to be a husband, he doesn’t have to be a lover; just a platonic partner who helps shoulder this burden — or I need to get out.

  The freelance jobs were going okay, but the work wasn’t consistent, and it didn’t get her out of the house. Instead she was caught in a vicious cycle — nightmares each night where Pistol came home covered in blood and wouldn’t tell her where he’d been. Where her father came into the house and tried to kill her. Where she gave birth to a malformed baby with her father’s face.

  She didn’t get in bad moods often, but when she did, she spiraled quickly. In this case, she felt she had good reason. She’d let too many things slide recently. Not least of all, the fact that Pistol apparently knew about her father’s plan to coerce Katrin into having a child. And he hadn’t said a damn word about it. No, “Say, Katrin, do you know what your dad asked me to do? What do you think we should do to avoid bowing to his ridiculous fucking wish?” No, he’d known that was part of the deal and he’d married her anyway. Without even checking to see if it was something she’d go along with.

  There were easy enough ways to avoid it, obviously. She could tell her father they were having trouble conceiving. That Pistol was infertile. Maybe they could even use some of Pistol’s club profits to bribe a doctor somewhere to say that having children would be an enormous risk to her health.

  Except she wouldn’t put it past her dad to have them both examined by medical professionals of his choosing.

  How far are we going to go to keep him satisfied? How much longer are we going to play this game?

  Those questions were on her mind every single day. And Pistol — Mr. Gallant Gentleman, Mr. “I Won’t Do Anything To You. I’m Not Like That.”— was being a real coward about helping her figure out the answers.

  She heard the bike roar up the drive, and the sound of it gave her a headache. Boys and their toys. He entered the kitchen with a quick hello, and tossed a greasy fast food bag on the counter. “Got us dinner. The burrito place is closed — some kind of repairs — so we’re stuck with Wendy’s tonight.”

  Katrindidn’t answer. A despair like nothing she’d felt since her mom’s death overtook her.I have no allies. No one I can trust. She heard Pistol go upstairs. Heard him thumping around up there.

  After a minute, she followed him. She found him in the bedroom. He’d changed from his shop T-shirt into a slightly fresher T-shirt, and, as usual, he’d peeled off his socks and left them in a corner of the room.

  He saw her standing in the doorway. Went back to searching out some sweatpants. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?” Katrin asked hollowly.

  “You look like I ate a kitten in front of you. What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong?” Her voice came out meek, hoarse. She cleared her throat. “What’s wrong?” she repeated. And this time, her voice sounded fierce, reflective of what she was actually feeling.

  He looked at her again, expression wary.

  “This house is a mess.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “This house is a mess, and I’m cooped up inside it all day.” She motioned to the socks on the floor. “What is this? What’s so hard about throwing your socks in the hamper? It’s right there, in the closet.”

  “All right, calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down. Don’t act like I’m crazy for not wanting to live in a pigsty.” She threw her arms up and let them fall to her sides. “The dishes. You’ve been telling me for days you’ll do them, but they’re all piled in that disgusting, crud-filled sink.”

  “I’ll do them.”

  “That’s what you keep saying! Seriously, you’re a grown ass man, not a teenage boy.” She kicked the sock. It didn’t go very far across the carpet, which only made her madder. “Act like it!”

  Oh my God. They were fighting like an actualmarried couple.

  Pistol’s face went red. “Look, I didn’t ask to be in this situation, so—”

  “Neither did I!”

  “—if you think I’m gonna change to fit your—”

  “I’m not asking you to change, I’m just asking you to act a little more like a grownup. Is that too much?”

  “Becauseyou’re perfect to live with?”

  “I’m a hell of a lot better than you!”

  “The way you stare at me all the time like you’re just waiting for me to fuck something up, so you can add it to your mental tally…”

  Her mouth fell open. “I never—”

  “You do. You look at me like I’m dirt under your shoe. I got news for you, princess. This ain’t no fairy tale.”

  She laughed harshly. “Oh please. Nobody knows that better than me.”

  He glowered at her, and for a second she was almost frightened, but anger overrode it. “You think I want to be here, walking on eggshells in the house some psychopath bought me? Before you came along, everything was great. ’Rango and me were gonna drive up to Three Sisters sometime, just the two of us. Get the hell away from this town for a while. I wish we’d done it. Wish I hadn’t even been in Rialto the night this all went to hell.”

  “Wish you’d left your brothers to deal with the fallout?” she shot back.

  His eyes narrowed, and for a second she thought she’d gone too far. “Keep your mouth shut about what you don’t understand.”

  She walked right up to him and very nearly jabbed him in the chest with one finger. “Don’t’ tell me to keep my mouth shut. I’m not asking you to fall in love with me. I’m not asking you to give up your brotherhood. All I’m asking is that when you’re here in this house, you do your laundry and your dishes.”

  “Fine!” He sounded like a sulky, overgrown toddler. He bent over and grabbed the socks and T-shirt, went to the closet, and shoved
them in the hamper. “Happy?” He demanded as he strode past her and pounded down the stairs. She heard the sink turn on, the clink of dishes, and all she could do was stand there, stunned. Pistol was a lot of things, but she’d never considered him a jerk, or a fucking child.

  She went downstairs after him and found him at the sink, furiously rinsing dishes and tossing them loudly in the dishwasher.

  “Pistol—” she began, not sure whether to be angry or amused. But before she could continue, Pistol yanked his hand out of the sink with a string of curses.

  “Motherfucker!”

  Katrin saw that his hand was dripping blood. Her gut plunged.