BAD BOY ROMANCE: DIESEL: Contemporary Bad Boy Biker MC Romance (Box Set) (New Adult Sports Romance Short Stories Boxset)

by Parker, Kylee

  Namir swung his head around, his eyes wide. Mr. Breslow had a similar expression.

  “Now, Taylor! You need to re-consider! How well do you know him?”

  “I know that he’s the one protecting me. He would lay his life down for me. Therefore, I trust him above all others.” She looked at Namir, then back to Mr. Breslow. “Who is in charge of my father’s portion for the next three weeks?”

  “Constantine.”

  “If…if I were to die before my twenty first birthday, who gets that money?”

  “Constantine.”

  Namir slid to the edge of his seat. Taylor swallowed before asking her final question. “Exactly how much of that figure you showed me will officially become mine on my birthday?”

  Mr. Breslow didn’t bother writing it down, he simply said it out loud. “24 million dollars.”

  Taylor was quiet on the way back to her Hampton’s home. Namir was lost in his own thoughts, and none of them good.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Taylor kept her eyes pinned on the passing scenery through her passenger window. “I’m thinking that it’s all a strange coincidence.”

  “Yeah.”

  Taylor looked at him briefly. His strong profile was stern as he watched the road ahead and occasionally checked the mirrors. “What do you think?”

  He hesitated, not wanting to exasperate the situation she was already in, yet unwilling to pretend that it wasn’t a strange coincidence. “I think we need to be more careful for sure. I’m not sure your mother or Jason would be capable of a farce like the stalker, or capable of hurting you.”

  “She is.”

  The statement was so plain, so brutally honest in its simplicity, that Namir checked the mirrors and pulled her car to the curb. He cut the motor and twisted in his seat. His eyes were dark and intense as he looked at her.

  “Taylor, you have to be absolutely certain before we can do anything about it.”

  “It’s a lot of money. Why has she been so secretive? Why has Jason? I mean he makes a ton of money off of me as it is! I just don’t know.”

  “Are you going to talk to her?”

  Taylor shook her head. “All I’m going to tell them is that my finances are now off limits. I’ll explain that I’m handling it on my own now.”

  Namir started the engine and pulled back onto the road. He could feel something brewing. It was an innate ability he had, that had intensified after his first shift when he was thirteen years old. Something wasn’t right, and it didn’t just have to do with their visit to Mr. Breslow.

  As it was, Taylor didn’t have to explain anything to her mother. Constantine was in a frenzy when they walked in through the interior garage door. Jason was there as well looking uncomfortable. Namir had no doubt that she had called him, demanding he come over.

  Constantine leaned her weight on a stiff stretched arm on the counter island. Her red hair was pulled up in a loose bun with artificial curls spilling onto the top of her head. Her red lipstick made an angry slash across her pinched face. Jason was casually nursing a drink at the kitchen table.

  “Just who in the hell do you think you are?” Constantine demanded, as soon as they walked in.

  Taylor looked at her mother coolly. “I assume Mr. Breslow phoned?”

  “You’re damn right he did! Why would you go to see him in the first place?”

  Taylor slammed her purse onto the opposite end of the island. “It’s my money! I shouldn’t have to answer to you about it!” She looked at her mother with more anger than Namir had seen before, and she shot Jason a dirty look to boot. “When were the two of you going to tell me about the trust fund that my father left for me? I turn twenty-one in three weeks!” She held up three fingers.

  “Sweetheart, there was no reason to bog your youth down with financial troubles.” Jason said smoothly. “Your mother and I decided, after your father died, that we would handle it until your twenty-first birthday.”

  Taylor drug her purse off the island. “If I make it to my birthday, right?”

  Jason’s face was horrified. “My God, Taylor, what are you implying?”

  Constantine laughed mirthlessly and grinned. “She’s saying we would harm her to get to her money.”

  Taylor stood next to Namir. “I’ve named Namir as the only one, other than me, who can discuss anything with Mr. Breslow, and since he was so tactless as to call and tell my business, perhaps I’ll find another accountant/lawyer.”

  “Oh we already know about Namir.” Constantine said, walking slowly towards Taylor.

  There was a dangerous edge to her voice that Namir didn’t like. Constantine was turning out to be far more complex than he had originally thought.

  “What are you going to do, Mother?” Taylor stared her down. “Are you going to wash my mouth out with soap? Slap my hands with a fly swatter until they bleed? Or maybe…” She said looking upwards with a finger laid on her cheek. “You’ll become so enraged that you’ll throw me down a flight of stairs and say that I tripped.”

  Jason choked on his drink, spewing it across the kitchen table. “What?” Liquid dribbled from his parted lips and down his chin. “She…” He pointed at Constantine. “She fell down the steps when she was ten! I remember! That child had fourteen stitches in her head!” He thumped his own head for emphasis. His voice shook. “She spent two days in the hospital! You and Tony were…nearly devastated.”

  Constantine never looked at him once. She kept her eyes on Taylor. “She’s lying.”

  “Am I?”

  Namir took Taylor by the hand and directed her out of the room. He glanced at Jason once, and saw that the man looked honestly mortified.

  Greta met them at the top of the steps, her face ashen. It was obvious she had over heard. She touched Taylor on the cheek and handed her Lancelot.

  Namir took Taylor into her room and locked the door. He kept his hand on the door knob and spoke without turning around. “Please, tell me that was made up.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  He turned with force and came to the bed, kneeling beside her and Lancelot. Lancelot licked his knuckles as Namir placed his hands on her thighs. “Taylor, she can’t stay here.”

  “I’ve dealt with my memories for a long time, and honestly, the other day when she slapped me, that was the first time in a long time that she has done anything like that.”

  Namir searched her face. “Did your father know?”

  “I don’t think so. I hope not anyway. That would make him guilty too.”

  Namir shook his head. “I don’t think Jason had a clue, but you never know, I guess.”

  “He’s seen her slap me a couple of times, but to him that’s just the wealthy’s way of fighting.”

  “It’s not right.”

  “No.” She said sadly. “It isn’t, but she’s my mother, and she is what she is. I can’t change that.”

  “She abused you.” Namir said coldly.

  “I can’t change that either.”

  Her face was empty. It was the only way Namir could describe it to himself. It was empty and he wanted to fill it with something. Anything.

  Namir licked his lips and moved his weight onto his knees. Taylor sat still and watched him, not resisting as he gently moved her knees so that he could come closer to her. He brushed loose hairs from the sides of her face, his large hands moving over her skin in a deliberate movement. He moved one hand to the back of her head, and the other to her waist.

  Taylor felt the tremor go across her belly as his hand gently gripped her waist. Her head was being pulled slowly towards his face. When his lips touched hers it was feather soft, like he was afraid he would hurt her. Taylor made sure he understood that he wouldn’t by leaning into the kiss harder.

  Breath escaped Namir’s lips with force as she broke the kiss. Namir was afraid he had crossed a line.

  Lancelot looked at them curiously with his head to one side and his pink tongue sticking out. Taylor grinned and motioned
towards him with her head.

  “He’s wondering what in the heck we’re doing.”

  Namir grinned too, relieved she wasn’t angry.

  Taylor looked at him, blushing but smiling. “Wow, Namir, why haven’t you done that before?”

  He stood and held a hand out to help her to her feet. “I’ll make sure I repeat it more often.” His legs were shaking, and there was a throbbing in his groin, but he felt a surge of something powerful going through him as well. Something not sexual.

  Taylor hooked Lancelot’s leash onto his collar, brushing against Namir as she reached for the dog. He breathed in deeply, careful to do it slowly so she wouldn’t know what he was doing. He loved the scent she wore today: rose with honey. Underlying that was a natural earthy floral smell. When he had first noticed it on her, it made him think of a flower bed after a spring rain.

  Namir awoke the next morning near dawn, tired after a night of tossing and turning. Every sound, large or small, had woken him. Constantine had thankfully taken to her rooms for the evening, complaining to Great of a headache and nausea. Namir hoped her maladies were caused by regret and conscious, but he suspected that it was due to the craving of sympathy and drama.

  Namir smiled as he remembered playing poker for pennies and nickels at the kitchen table with Great and Taylor. Greta had kicked their butts.

  Jason had walked around like he was on egg shells, looking at everyone sheepishly, until Taylor had finally patted him on the back and told him that she didn’t blame him for anything. Namir wasn’t so sure he felt the same way.

  Jason had stayed the night and proceeded to get sloppy drunk, singing Christmas carols to them as they played. After the third song, Taylor had reminded him it wasn’t even Halloween yet.

  “Doesn’t your wife miss you?” She had asked while looking at the cards in her hands.

  “My wife is leaving me.” He announced with little emotion. “Actually, she’s throwing me out.”

  Everyone stopped and looked at him. He shrugged, and made a pouty face. “Oh, she’ll make a killing on child support and alimony, but I’ll survive.” Just as suddenly as he had pouted, he grinned and broke into the Gloria Gaynor song, just to prove his point.

  Namir showered quickly and checked the monitors in his bedroom. He wanted to take Taylor and Greta out for breakfast somewhere nice since it was Saturday, but all thoughts of food left his mind as he stared at the image of the front gate sitting open. He checked the other camera angles and saw that the house was quiet, and there was no movement in the backyard or along the sides of the house. The garage was also dark and empty of any people.

  He opened up the camera pointing at the gate so he could see it on the entire screen. He saw a rather thick paper laying in the driveway, just where the gate was sitting open. He knew they received a paper, and it might be thicker on the weekends, but usually it was left in the paper box.

  Namir listened at Taylor’s door. He didn’t hear a sound. He walked to Constantine’s doors, but all he heard from there was a light snoring. He tried the door, and was surprised that it opened. He stuck his head in, amazed at the size and splendor of the room. Against the far wall was a king sized bed on six inch platform. Constantine moved her head, and Namir saw that she had on burgundy sleep blinds, even though the room was nearly dark due to the heavy drapes. Jason was lying face down beside her, still in his clothes, snoring softly.

  Namir went back to the monitor and saw that nothing had changed. He stood with his hands on his hips for a few moments, and decided that it might have been a malfunction in the gate causing it to open, but he doubted it. For all he knew a drunk Jason may have thought about leaving and forgotten to close it again. Who knew? Either way, he was going to have to go out there.

  Namir walked down the driveway as the early dawn light began to grow stronger. He stopped midway down when he realized that the bulky paper was no longer laying at the end of the driveway. A bird chirped nearby, and he jumped slightly. He crouched and listened, allowing his wolf senses to take over. He couldn’t detect anything around him except bugs and a few small animals, yet he knew, without a doubt, that the situation was very wrong.

  A light breeze ruffled something in the white paper box, and he moved towards it. It looked like the end of the flimsy clear plastic tube that the paper came in was fluttering in the breeze. He cocked his head to the side as he heard a slight hiss. His eyes flashed bright and large as he turned to bolt out of the way, his arms and legs springing into a sprint.

  The explosion threw Namir into the air and onto his back. His ears were ringing and his head throbbed instantly. The initial feeling of fear gave way to anger causing all of his hair follicles to ignite. He tried to will the sensation away as his body tried to stretch and pull against his will.

  I can’t change here! He thought with panic.

  He blinked his eyes several times trying to focus his eyes. The sky above him tilted and eventually turned black. The last sound he heard was Taylor screaming his name.

  Namir groaned as he felt his body being lifted. He could tell there weren’t hands lifting him, but there were voices around him. The voices said strange important sounding words, clipped and shortened.

  “BP 160 over 90. Pulse 110.”

  He heard Taylor’s voice.

  “No! I’m riding with him!”

  He was sure, as he tried to blink his eyes open that her gray eyes were staring into his. Her eyes. Her eyes were the most beautiful he had ever seen.

  The next time he heard voices, they were hushed and whispering. He tried to lift his head, but it felt heavy and hurt more than it had even in Afghanistan’s heat and turmoil. It must have been what his mother referred to as ‘a blinding pain’, because he certainly couldn’t see anything. When he did blink his eyes open, images were fuzzy and the light…oh sweet Jesus the light…was excruciating in its brightness. He heard Taylor’s voice next to his ear, shushing him and whispering that it was ok, and to relax.

  Namir needed to tell her something. He wanted desperately for her to understand his feelings. His lips felt swollen. He reached for her and immediately felt her small hands in his.

  “It’s alright, Namir, just rest. I’ll be right here, I promise.”

  “I…” He croaked. “I…you…need…”

  “Shhh, tell me when your better.” Her voice was near his ear, in his head, everywhere. He felt her lips graze his earlobe. “I love you.” She whispered.

  Yes! I love you too! His mind screamed, before he drifted into sleep again.

  Taylor zipped her hoodie and sighed at the doctor. Constantine tried to rub her shoulders, but she pulled away. “I want to know if he’ll see again.” She repeated.

  The doctor pulled his shoulders upward. “I think yes, but we won’t know for certain until he’s had time to heal and rest. He has a severe concussion, Miss Randall, we’ll need to be careful.”

  The doctor excused himself and walked down the white tiled floor. Taylor leaned against the wall of Namir’s room, her eyes on the ceiling. She hoped Jason came with the coffee soon. She was sure she was going to fall down. She hadn’t slept in over twenty four hours.

  Jason approached them from the opposite end of the hall, holding a paper carrier with three cups of coffee. His face was strained and there was a young man about Taylor’s age walking beside him. She hoped it wasn’t a member of the press. They already had the paparazzi camping in the hospital parking lot.

  “Who’s this?” Taylor snapped, as Jason and the young man approached. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place where she had seen him before. He grinned at her and held out his hand, which she ignored.

  “I called your house, but the housekeeper said you were here.”

  “You called my house? Why? And how did you get the number?”

  “Mr. Breslow. I had some business with him yesterday.”

  Taylor bristled and looked at Constantine. She shook her head, indicating she had no idea what was going on. H
er red lips were faded, in need of more lipstick, and her eyes narrowed at the young man.

  “What are you talking about?”

  He shook his head, still smiling. His brown hair moving slightly. “Sorry, I should have explained better. You see, yesterday was my twenty-first birthday. I saw Mr. Breslow because my father had a trust set up for me that I can now claim.”

  Taylor looked at him closely. He had gray eyes. “Who are you?”

  “I’m sure my trust is humble compared to yours.”

  “Who are you?” Taylor yelled, drawing the attention of several nurses.

  He held his hand out again. “I’m Harrison, your half-brother.”

  Taylor kept her arms folded tightly over her chest, and the hoodie stayed pulled over her hair. Constantine wrapped and rewrapped a napkin around her fingers, red nail polish vanishing then reappearing with every twist. Jason looked like he might have vomited at any moment. Harrison seemed calm and cool as he waited for someone to speak.

  As soon as he had announced that he was Taylor’s half-brother, Constantine had gasped and swooned, causing Jason to shove the carrying tray of coffee into Taylor’s hands, so he could grab her before she hit the floor. Two nurses had run over and tried to take over, as Jason stuttered that she was tired, hypoglycemic, and just in need of food. After they had given her water and checked her vitals, they had reluctantly brought Jason a wheel chair so they could go to the cafeteria. Harrison had halfheartedly offered his assistance, which Taylor had brushed off angrily.

  They sat in a corner of the cafeteria, away from the windows, with a fake tree reaching its willowy limbs towards Taylor’s head. She sipped her coffee and glared at the man across from her.

  “I know this is a shock to you all.” He began, taking time to look at each of them individually.

  Constantine lifted her red rimmed eyes. “A shock? A shock?” She hissed. “It’s impossible! Tony would have never cheated on me!”

  Harrison’s mouth flicked lightly at one corner. “He did, I assure you.”

  “What’s your last name?” Taylor asked through tight lips. “It’s surely not Randall.”