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

by Naomi West

  # # #

  For dinner that night, Cutter requested a grilled cheese and with tomato soup. He insisted, though, that she make him one.

  “Oh, come on,” she said, rolling her eyes, “you had my eggs this morning. You know you're a way better cook than me.”

  “Well, yeah. But, I've had more practice than you. Besides, I want to see what you can do with one.”

  She laughed. It had been a while since she'd made one, years since Wyland had decided one day out of the blue that he didn't like them anymore, but she felt like she might be up to the task. Of course, it wouldn't be as amazing as the ones Cutter had been making for her.

  “I don't care how amazing it is,” he said. “I just want you to make me one.”

  He stayed with her in the kitchen while she cooked, helping out with little manly things like opening the jar of tomato bisque or reaching utensils and dishes that were high up on a shelf. Other than, he stayed out of her way. She could tell it was a trial for him, too, to not offer guidance on everything. When she was finished, she set the cooked and halved sandwich down in front of him with a flourish.

  His eyes widened in surprise. “It looks delicious,” he said with a grin as he picked it up and took his first bite. His eyes closed as he chewed contentedly.

  She knew that somewhere, deep down inside her, she needed him to like it. Not because he was a man, or because she was sharing his bed. She needed to feel accomplished, needed to feel like she could be her own person. “Well?” she asked expectantly as she wiped her hands clean on a dish towel, her eyes fixated on the slow, chewing motion of his mouth.

  He nodded as he gave a slow and steady thumbs up. “Excellent,” he said around a mouthful of grilled cheese.

  Something welled up inside her chest. Whatever it was, it felt like a new, unfamiliar emotion. An emotion she hadn't experienced in so long, that it felt completely foreign to her. Like it was from someone else, someone who'd had a better, easier life than she had.

  As she watched Cutter tear into the sandwich, she slowly began to realize what the feeling was. It had been gone so long from her life that she'd nearly forgotten. Pride, a sense of accomplishment. A tiny piece of self-satisfaction she'd been denied for years and years by Wyland. She grinned wider than she thought possible. Cutter leveled those steely eyes on her, a slow smile creeping up at the corners of his lips. He saw it, too, this new sense of success.

  When she'd cooked for him this morning, this feeling hadn't come. This time it filled her to the brim as she watched his reaction with each bite. Maybe, it was because this time, she could tell he wasn't just faking it. Whatever the reason, she liked it. And she wanted more.

  # # #

  That night, as she was about to crawl into bed, Cutter sat down on the edge of his side and reached into the top drawer of the nightstand.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as he pulled something heavy and metal out of the nightstand.

  “Being prepared,” was all he said.

  She looked over his shoulder, and her breath caught in her throat. In his hands, he held a pistol, a big cruel-looking piece of sleek engineering, all oiled and shiny.

  “I don't know-” she started to say, feeling suddenly nervous.

  “It's just for our safety,” he said, cutting her off in a brusque tone as he slapped a magazine into the bottom of the gun.

  She didn't like guns. Never had, never would. Her father had never kept them around the house, either for hunting or self-defense. “Does it ... does it really have to be loaded?” she asked as he flicked the safety and slid it back into the nightstand.

  He turned and looked back over his shoulder, with an incredulous look. “Doesn't do much good if it ain't.”

  Still standing, she wrung her hands a little.

  “I'm just not comfortable about them, that's all.”

  “Well, I'm not asking you to use it, am I?”

  “This is just feeling a little too real, all of a sudden, that's all.”

  “Well, unfortunately, it is real,” Cutter replied, shutting the nightstand drawer and getting up from the bed. “Look, I don't keep them around because I like them, babe. I keep them around because sometimes they're necessary.”

  She wanted to ask him what kind of life he had led that guns were considered necessary. She already knew the answer to a silly question like that. She sighed as she just crawled into bed and kept her thoughts to herself.

  “I just ...” he began, but trailed off as he switched off the overhead light. “I need to protect you. I made a promise to you. If you don't feel comfortable with it in the room, I'll have to sleep outside in the rec room.”

  She shook her head as she pulled the sheets and covers up over herself. “No, it's fine. I'll get past it, tonight. Hopefully, this'll all be over soon.”

  “Right,” he said as he went back around to his side and got back in bed. “Eventually, this will all be sorted. But, in the meantime, I'm still going to have to do some things you don't like.”

  She sighed and nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “I know. I just wish it didn't have to do with guns.”

  “Well, you can wish in one hand and shit in the other ...”

  She frowned a little. “Yeah, I know,” she said, not needing to hear the whole thing.

  He snaked an arm around her and pulled her close against his body, against his warmth and strength. Quiet confidence came off of him, seemed to permeate the air. This was a man who knew that the future was going to be rocky, but that he'd make it through to the other side. She hoped that, somehow, maybe through osmosis, she'd somehow absorb some of that strength and confidence from him. She bit her lip, and nuzzled into his shoulder. At the very least, she knew, she could share in one thing he possessed.

  His warmth.

  Chapter 26

  Cutter

  “Woah, Smalls,” Cutter said into the phone in as even and steady a voice as he could get, “slow down, brother. Tell me exactly what's gone.”

  His second-in-command didn't listen to his request. “They're all gone,” Smalls yelled. “Gone, dude!”

  Cutter was still seated on the edge of the bed, wearing just his boxer-briefs. Through his sleep-induced fog, he couldn't make sense of what Smalls was saying. “What's gone?” he asked.

  “Not what, dude!” Smalls yelled. “Who!”

  “Who? What the fuck?”

  “They took them all, dude! Cops came in with the health department a little while ago, wouldn't let me call you. They started arresting all the guys. Everyone that was here, man, they arrested and carted away!”

  Cutter ran a hand down his face. This wasn't good. Without the crew, they didn't have a restaurant. And without the restaurant, they wouldn’t have the money to bail the guys out. This was the beginning of a vicious downward spiral, one that would suck down all of them, including Liona. “Fuck!”

  “Fuck is right, man! We got breakfast in less than an hour, Cutter, and I don't know what the fuck we're gonna do. We got you, me, and Squirrel, since he's just in for lunch. We'll be lucky to get this place cleaned up, as is, but with just two cooks and a server? Ain't no way, man!”

  Cutter shook his head. He didn't know, either. What could they do? They had everyone. They were lost.

  “So what do you want me to do, prez?” Smalls asked.

  Cutter sighed, shook his head again. “Just shut it down, I guess. Put a sign up, apologizing to the customers.”

  Smalls sighed into his ear, a hard edge to his voice. He didn't like to admit defeat any more than Cutter did, but sometimes you had to make a tactical retreat in the face of overwhelming odds. Five people, they'd be fine. Four, maybe they could pull it off. But three? No way.

  “Shit,” Smalls said. “You're probably right. Alright, man.”

  “Just ... I'll be there in a bit, okay? We'll help you clean up and deal with any customers that wander up wondering what's going on.”

  “Got it,” Smalls replied in a dejected voice. “See you in a bit.�
�

  Cutter sighed again and hung up the phone. He tossed it on the bed next to him, his mind whirling with emotions and thoughts. Health department and cops? This had Wyland written all over it. So, now he had no men, no restaurant, and no way to make a legit living. He should have just killed the motherfucker when he had the chance the day before. He'd been so close. He could have just reached out, done the deed, been done with it. This was how the end must feel, he thought. He leaned his head forward and dropped it into his hands as he felt an ominous cloud of despair begin to descend upon him. It was thick, black, and oily as it came closer and closer.

  Maybe it was time to run. Maybe it was time to just cut his losses, divvy up the funds, and call the Vanguard done and over with. He and Smalls could take Liona with them, ride out west, find another place to open shop. But, what would that accomplish? Wyland would just come for them there, no matter how long it took. And his brothers would still be locked up. What else could he do, though? He didn't have any options left. He didn't have any cards left to play, no tricks up his sleeve. He was just a man, after all.

  The bed shifted as Liona sat up and pressed herself against his naked back. “Morning,” she said. “What's going on?”

  He sighed and turned around. “Cops raided the diner, took everyone but Smalls in.”

  “Oh no,” Liona said, putting her hand to her mouth. “What are we going to do?”

  He winced. “Seriously considering closing everything up.”

  She made a face, one of hurt, like he'd just killed her first puppy. She shook her head. “You can't do that.”

  “Well, what can I do, babe? We can't run a restaurant without people. He's got us over a barrel. It's just me, Smalls, and Squirrel, and three people ain't enough to run a diner. And no diner means no money.”

  “You got me,” she offered, an innocent, beatific smile on her lips. “I waited tables back in college for some extra spending money.”

  “You did?” he asked, the wheels already beginning to turn. But, then they stopped, and he shook his head. “But, what about Wyland?”

  “What about him? Sounds like he's already fucking up your world, like he said he would. If you leave, what will that accomplish?”

  “Here,” Cutter said, “I can at least keep an eye on you, keep you protected.”

  Her eyes flashed. “So, the solution is still to keep me here in a cage? All I did was leave one, just so I could be locked up in another?”

  He shook his head, sighing. “No, babe. I just want to keep you safe, that's all.”

  “Look,” she said, “the only way for me to be safe is for Wyland to be gone. Right now, he's untouchable, right?”

  He groaned in dismay. She was right. He was damn near untouchable. And as long as Wyland was the assistant DA, he'd stay that way. Nothing Cutter could do would set them on an offensive foot.

  “What you need to do is put him off his game,” Liona said. “You need to piss him off.”

  “And, how do we do that?”

  “Easy,” she said with a smile. “Pretend like it doesn't matter, pretend like he isn't get to you. He just gets more and more pissed, until he loses control and flips.”

  Cutter thought about her recommendation. Actually, looking back at his friendship with Wyland, that was a good plan. Wyland had always been a sore loser and a bully. Back then, it hadn't been as noticeable, but little warning signs had been there.

  “So?” Liona asked, still smiling as she watched the gears grinding in Cutter's head.

  Cutter smiled. “Yeah,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her. “I think you're right.”

  “Finally,” she said, kissing him for one, long moment. “I'm getting the credit I deserve.”

  Chapter 27

  Liona

  Liona took a shower and got ready as fast as she could. While she did, Cutter called Smalls and told him the plan, called the Vanguard's lawyer, and went to rouse Squirrel from bed. She pulled on fresh clothes, put on the little bit of makeup Carly had managed to snag her, and was ready faster than she'd ever gotten ready for anything in her life. While Squirrel was drying off, she and Cutter bolted out the front door and hopped on his chopper. They roared out of the clubhouse parking lot, put rubber to asphalt, and took off down the highway.

  “Here we go,” Smalls said, about half an hour later, as he showed them what was left of the kitchen.

  “We can work with this,” Cutter said, that same old, familiar grit in his voice that Liona had grown to admire so much.

  The restaurant was in as much, if not worse, disarray than Smalls had painted with his words. If a bomb had gone off in there, it would have been an improvement. The walk-in refrigeration was tossed, with veggies everywhere. None of the sauces or prep were ready. Smalls had done his best but sometimes your best just wasn't good enough.

  Squirrel arrived a few minutes after Cutter and her, and they put him to work cleaning the dining area. He began to take chairs down from the tables and started the monotonous job of rolling software. Which was fine by Liona. She'd always hated side-work when she was waiting tables.

  “Okay,” Cutter said just before he began sweeping out the inside of the walk-in, “here's what we're gonna do. First thing, we keep the restaurant closed through breakfast. Liona, I'm gonna be sexist here and say you probably got the nicest handwriting of all of us, so you write the sign. Tell 'em we'll reopen at lunch and apologize for the inconvenience”

  “Got it,” Liona said.

  “Smalls,” Cutter said, turning and gesturing to his second-in-command with the broom he clutched in both hands, “need you to go through the food we got, everything that's fresh and manageable.”

  “'Kay,” Smalls said, nodding.

  “You and I, we're gonna put together a list of dishes we can make, and make fast.”

  “Limited menu, then?” Smalls asked.

  Cutter nodded. “Very. I think I see some soups left over from yesterday, so we'll put those on the menu as we find 'em.”

  “Got it,” Smalls said.

  “Liona, you ever done any chalk board writing?”

  “Not since kindergarten,” she replied, grinning.

  “Well, then you better learn to get in touch with your inner five-year-old. Need you to wash the daily specials board above the counter so we can put the menu up there.”

  “Once we know it,” Liona clarified.

  “Right,” he said, “once we know it. Come back here after the sign, and you can help Smalls with the sorting. Squirrel should be able to handle the dining area by himself.”

  With their marching orders, the three of them separated and went about their tasks. They had a deadline to meet.

  # # #

  The next several hours passed in a flash. Before Liona knew it, she was watching as Smalls and Cutter pulled together a bare bones, limited menu that had as much variety as their meager ingredients could afford. After she'd assembled the menu from the two men, Squirrel helped her get the chalkboard down, and they set to work getting the day's options written out.

  “Perfect,” Squirrel said, grinning from ear to ear, wide enough for his missing molars to be on display. “Looks really nice, Liona. Real nice, indeed.”

  “Thanks,” Liona said, blushing a little as she swept a wild lock of hair back behind her ear. “Can you read it alright?”

  “Just fine,” he said, checking the time, “can read it just fine. Almost opening time. You think the bosses are ready?”

  She nodded as her eyes glanced towards the clock on the wall. “If they're not, they better be soon.” She tapped her foot. She was impatient, but she also felt something else ...

  On one hand, she was ready to get this over with. She knew it was going to be bad. Up to this point, the entire morning had already sucked. She'd woken up early to the sounds of a frayed and edgy Smalls on the phone and a defeated Cutter in bed. Then, when they'd decided to try and do something about Wyland's shenanigans, she'd had to rush through getting ready. She'd worked with
the guys for the last three hours, desperately trying to get the restaurant back into a somewhat presentable shape. On the other, she realized she was actually a little excited for the shift ahead. This would be the first time she'd really worked a job since college, since Wyland had limited what she was allowed to do. The prospect of working at the Farm to Fable, even just for one shift, may have frightened her a little, but it also made her feel a little valuable. Like she was going to get to be part of something bigger than herself.

  “Liona, babe,” Cutter roared from the back of house, “last check. Come on, girl!”

  She went scurrying around the front counter and headed in back. The kitchen was back to being a spotless as the Vanguard clubhouse's. Cutter and Smalls were standing in front of the prep table with Squirrel, and the smell of sauces and soups filled the air.