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

by Naomi West

  “Kind of a mouthful,” Viking said.

  “You’re kind of a mouthful,” Rhino said, elbowing him. They started to wrestle, but Kong gave them a death glare, and they stopped. Kong looked at Katrin. “She’s going to be very much like her namesake. Brave. Bold. Kind.”

  Katrin felt a surge of emotion. She tried to reply to Kong, but the words caught in her throat.

  Pistol placed a hand on her shoulder. “Like her mother, too.”

  “Exactly.” Kong said gruffly.

  Katrin managed a laugh. “You two. Cut it out.”

  “It’s true,” Pistol said.

  Katrinfocused on her daughter.Like her grandmother, too.

  Mom, I wish you were here.

  And the voice came to her, sweet and rich as the sunlight that filtered in through the window:

  I am.

  I am, Katrin. And she’s beautiful.

  Katrinclosed her eyes briefly.Thank you. She looks so much like you. I see you in her eyes.

  She’d worried a little about what this day would feel like — if it would be lonely, giving birth without her family present. A foolish worry. Her family was here. Noisy, fumbling, a little rough around the edges, but good-hearted all of them. Her brothers.

  “So when you gonna teach her to ride?” Ford asked.

  “Dude, she was just born.” Pistol said.

  “Exactly. Gotta start ’em young.”

  “And whose bike it she gonna learn on?” Jackson asked. “Yours, or Kat’s.”

  Katrin grinned. “I don’t know if I trust anyone on my bike.”

  The guys laughed. “You sure are attached to that thing,” Ford said.

  “How could I not be? You’ve seen how fast that baby goes.”

  She and Pistol had picked out her Suzuki V-Strom 1000 ABS a couple of weeks after the showdown at her father’s house. Katrin had spent hours online comparing different models, asking Pistol questions, chatting with people in biker forums before she’d decided on the Suzuki — sleek, built for speed, good off road. She’d managed to get a good few weeks of riding in before her doctor had tactfully suggested she back off a little and focus on getting bed rest. Mostly she’d ridden it to and from the university. But sometimes, on her way home from campus, she’d gotten an itch that wouldn’t leave her alone, and she’d pulled off into the desert, laughing at the wind in her face, the sand stinging her calves as she blazed across the unspoiled land.

  She and Pistol had purchased a little house in town, not too far from campus. They’d used only money from Pistol’s auto shop, the sale of her father’s house, and Katrin’s freelancing for the down payment. None of Leonard Smith’s dirty money. Katrin had enrolled for a semester of nursing school. She’d be taking the summer off for maternity leave, but she hoped to be back at school in the fall.

  “I don’t know if I want her anywhere near a motorcycle,” Pistol muttered. “Those things are dangerous.”

  “Hey, dude, don’t be sexist,” Rhino said. He looked at Katrin as if for approval.

  Katrin looked at Pistol. “That’s right. Our daughter will do just fine on a bike.”

  “I’d say the same if she were a boy!” Pistol insisted. “I never realized how terrifying motorcycles are until I started picturing my kid riding one.

  They all laughed.

  Kong shifted. “Maybe we ought to let mama and baby rest.” He glanced around at the others. “We’ve got club business to discuss, anyway.”

  “Um, excuse me,” Katrin said with a laugh. “I want to hear the club business.”

  Kong grinned at her. “Sure you don’t need a nap first? This is pretty big news.”

  “I do not need a nap,” she said firmly. Like hell she didn’t. But the boys had been hinting for a couple of days now about some big news involving the club. She wouldn’t miss it for the world.

  Kong sat back in his chair. “Well. Basically, Ford and me have been talking for a while now about rebuilding the Blackened Souls.”

  Katrin nodded. This wasn’t news; they’d already accepted a couple of new members, and had been working for weeks to renovate the clubhouse. Which had needed some work anyway, but particularly required some sprucing up in the wake of her father’s men’s raid on it. The guys had done a deep cleaning, and had even picked out new furniture — mismatched though it was.

  Kong ran a hand through his hair and went on. “So, the plan is to rebuild it as a legitimate business organization. He looked from Pistol to Katrin. “No more drugs. No more turf wars. Nothing shady.”

  “Wow,” Katrin said. “That’s fantastic.” She meant it. She’d been trying to reconcile her own role as a Blackened Soul with the club’s shady history. She liked the idea of a new start.

  “So we’re gonna start a repair shop of our own,” Ford added. “Pistol, we’d be most appreciative if you’d oversee that aspect. Give the rest of us any training we still need.”

  “Of course,” Pistol said.

  “Thinking about a motorcycle licensing school, too,” Kong said.

  “Awesome!” Katrin said. “I have some friends from school who’d sign up in a heartbeat to learn to ride.”

  “Well, steer them our way, please!” Ford laughed. “We don’t have much experience being legit.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true,” Katrin said. “From what Pistol’s told me, your club always tried to do right, for the most part.”

  “Yeah!” Rhino said. “Right ain’t always the same as legal.”

  “Words to live by.” Jackson clapped him on the back.

  “Yeah,” well now we’re gonna be both,” Ford said. “Right and legal.”

  “Well,” Katrin said, amused. “Then I’m particularly thrilled to be part of the club at such a monumental time.”

  “We are, of course, honored to have you.” Kong smiled kindly. “Glad that your family is a part of our family now.” He stood slowly. He hadn’t recovered from his time as her father’s hostage quite as well as the others. Some of it was old age, but he might always carry the vestiges of the beating he’d taken at her father’s hand. “Well,” he said. “We really should give you some time alone with your daughter.” He motioned to the others, and they shuffled to the door, calling out congratulations. Kong gave them one last smile and a nod, then the door shut.

  They were alone at last. They gazed at each other. Katrin wondered if her smile was as goofy as Pistol’s. “So, we did it,” Pistol said. “You did it, I mean.”

  “We did it.” She cradled Deion closer to her. The baby was sound asleep. Very bald, Ford was right — except for one tuft of dark hair.

  Katrin looked back at Pistol, her smile fading. “Is it hard not to have Deion here?”

  Pistol shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, it’s always rough. He would have loved to see her. But I think … maybe he can.” He smiled softly at her. “What about you? How are you holding up?”

  She nodded. “Same. I believe my mom can see her. See us. I feel Mom here with me. I don’t know if that sound silly…”

  “Not at all.” Pistol stroked her hand, then tucked the blue blanket up more closely around little Deion’s chin.

  “I’m glad the club’s getting a makeover,” she said after a while.

  “Me too.”

  The nurse came in to check on them. He offered to take Deion to the nursery so Katrin could sleep, but Katrin said she’d rather keep her baby with her a while longer. The nurse left.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Katrin told Pistol shyly. “Maybe I’d like to specialize in prenatal nursing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I’d like to help other people through the process of — of this miracle. You know?”

  He nodded. “I think that’s awesome.”

  She gazed at him for a long moment. “It’s gonna be quite a future, isn’t it?”

  The grin stretched across his face. “Oh yeah. Lots to look forward to.”

  She adjusted the bundle in her arms so she could reach out and take Pistol’s h
and. “I’m glad you’re sharing it with me.”

  He looked at her quite seriously. “I am…” He shook his head. “The luckiest man alive.”

  She squeezed his hand. “They’ll be here with us. To help us. Won’t they?” All of them: Katrin’s mother, Deion. The other fallen club members. Even the man her father had been before he’d become corrupt. The man posing with Goofy at Disney World. She believed he was still out there somewhere.

  Nobody was ever all one thing. You needed balance, like Pistol had said. Someone to bring you to the light when you were battling your own darkness. Someone to make you laugh when all you could see was despair. Someone to remind you of what was real and serious when you’d tried your best to numb yourself through sarcasm and feigned levity.

  “Of course,” Pistol said quietly, running his thumb along her knuckles. Deion let out a small, sleepy sound, and Pistol smiled down at her, then back up at Katrin. “We’re a family. All of us.”

  Katrin tried to swallow the lump in her throat. They’d both finally found what they were looking for. A place to belong. People to care for them.

  Pistol squeezed her hand again. “Now try to get some sleep. Maddy’ll be here later, and you know she’s a whirlwind.”

  Katrin smiled. She’d been back in touch with Maddy over the past few months, and had even visited one another a couple of times. And when Katrin had texted Maddy after going into labor last night, Maddy had immediately gotten into her old Camry and started driving south.

  “All right,” Katrin murmured, closing her eyes. “You might be right for once.

  She could hear the answering smile in his voice. “Go to sleep, darlin’. I’ll be right here. Always.”

  She knew he meant it.

  THE END

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  OWNED: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Blood Warriors MC)

  By Naomi West

  I BOUGHT HER SO SHE COULD GIVE ME A CHILD.

  I need a son to fulfill my father’s last wishes.

  The pretty bartender is perfect for the job: hot, lonely, and desperate.

  Now, I own all of her – from her lips to her womb.

  And she’s going to have my baby.

  It sure as hell wasn’t how I saw my life going.

  I’m a biker, after all, not some loser dad with a white picket fence and 2.3 annoying children.

  I drink, I fight, I screw.

  I definitely don’t babysit.

  But even for a rebel like myself, some things simply must be done.

  My father begged me on his deathbed to give him a grandchild.

  Plus, he made it a requirement of my inheritance.

  Fine. As you wish, Pops.

  One baby, coming up.

  But the women in my life are hardly fit for conversation, much less reproducing.

  I need someone a little different.

  That’s where Star came in.

  She’s as tough as they come, but more importantly, she’s desperate for some money.

  I can give her that.

  In exchange, I want all of her.

  I want to see that sexy little grin.

  To touch that tight little body.

  And to give her a night that she will never forget – at least, not for nine months afterwards.

  I’ll do whatever I want with this vixen.

  After all, I own her now.

  Chapter One

  Star

  There it was, right in front of Star Bentley: The Twisted Raven. The worst biker bar in the tri-county area.

  She peered at it through the windshield of her little hatchback, a wreck of car which had just barely been able to limp to the parking lot under its own power. The neon sign had just flicked “OPEN,” and the bar was still deserted. Knowing this place, though, it would start filling up soon. She took a deep breath and wondered if she really was desperate enough to do this, to start cocktail waitressing at such a scuzzy, bottom-feeder dive.

  The Twisted Raven was notorious throughout the tri-county area. Barroom brawls, burly bikers rolling and fighting in the gravel parking lot, and underage kids buying alcohol. There were probably even worse things going on there, too, if the rumors were to be believed. It was a marvel the place was still open. Star figured it would have been out of business years ago, if it had been inside city limits. The town council would have seen to it. But, since it was out here on the highway, surrounded only by farmland and asphalt, it was a county problem.

  Star took a deep breath and narrowed her eyes at the rundown, wood-frame establishment. “It's either this,” she said out loud, in a confident voice to the empty car, “or stripping. And, what do you think that kind of place would be like? You've got this, girl. You've got this.”

  She grabbed her resume folder and purse from the passenger seat and got out of the car. Gravel and dirt crunched under her stylish, but professional, flats as she made her way through the empty lot to the front door.

  In her mind, she ran through all the poor decisions made by others that had brought her, a beautiful, upstanding woman who should be married to some businessman and on the rotary committee, to a place like this.

  Her father getting arrested for fraud. He was three states over now, doing ten-to-twenty.

  Her mother getting hooked on drugs, opiates, and running out-of-state to be with Star's new stepfather.

  The house? Gone. The cars? Gone. Star's future? Gone, gone, gone. Gone.

  She should have been holding her breath like this before she stepped into a meeting of the League of Women Voters. Definitely not the Old Crow.

  This was it. The bottom of the barrel. But what had her dad always said? “Do what you have to do, not what you want to do. Be happiest when they're the same thing, but still be happy when they're not.”

  Of course, what good was advice from some guy who ended up in prison?

  She paused at the entryway, took a deep breath, and pulled open the big, steel door.

  The stench of stale beer and staler smoke assaulted her nose. The lights were low, and there was only one window to allow in the sun. Behind the bar stood a big biker of a man with a Grizzly Aarons beard, his face grim under the red, blue, and green neon lights of the beer signs. He cleaned and polished a beer glass.

  Star paused just inside the door and took a deep breath, something she immediately regretted as the foul smell hit her. She clutched her resume and its folder to her chest as she fought back an unexpected gag.

  The bartender wasn't any more appealing than the smell, with his heavy features, long curly hair, and unkempt beard. His eyes shifted to Star, looked her up and down. He didn't show any sign of whether or not he approved.

  She felt the pit of her stomach drop. She shouldn't have come here. She shouldn't have come to this shitty bar, on this shitty highway, with its scary, shitty bartender. She almost turned around and headed right back out to her car. But, then she reminded herself of what waited out there for her. Bills, destitution, and no help from anyone. Back there was nothing except her friend Patricia's shoulder to cry on.

  “You okay, hun?” the bartender grated as she started to step forward into the dark, smelly bar.

  “Me?” she squeaked after his gravelly voice brought her back to the moment.

  He gave her a perplexed look, as if to say, “Yeah, you, stupid. Who else is there?”

  This was it. One. Last. Chance.

  She took another breath. This time, she didn't gag, which was a small wonder on its own. She put one foot in front of the other and crossed over to the bar, her resume clutched so tightly in her hand that she had begun to bend it. She held it out in front of her like a crucifix warding off vampires.

  “
I was wondering if you - well, if your bar that is - is hiring?” she rambled, her nerves clamoring for control of her vocal chords. She gave a weak smile. “I brought my resume.”

  The man came over and took hold of the resume folder, prying it from her still-gripping hand. He opened it up, his eyes flickering from the sheet to her face, and back again.

  “Listen, Miss -” he said, genuine regret in his voice, as his eyes darted back to the cover sheet, “Bentley. You seem real qualified and all, and a real great gal, but . . .”