“Honey, that was all my fault. I made him keep it from you. I’m sorry. He wanted to tell you when you were old enough, but I didn’t want to scare you. I was sure you didn’t need to know. Don’t be upset with your father. All of this is my fault….”
My eyes slowly look over at my mother. “How can his being a member of a gang not be his choice?”
“God… I never thought I’d ever have to tell this story ever. I need a drink.” She gets up and walks over to the minibar in the corner of the room. Opening the fridge, she takes out the first thing her hand makes contact with. She opens the tiny bottle of vodka and downs it, then repeats that with the champagne, white wine, and whiskey until all that’s left in the minibar are macadamia nuts, chocolate bars, and fizzy water. This has to be some story. She barely ever drinks alcohol.
“Enough, Mom. Tell me what happened and what you know. If I’m a target because of something you or Dad did years and years ago, I don’t want my ignorance to affect the safety of the child I’m carrying.”
“Okay.”
Mom dumps the last bottle in the now overflowing tiny trash can beside the minibar and comes to sit beside me on the sofa. The woman stinks of liquor. I shake my head to focus and listen.
Chapter 23
Molly
I watch my mother take a long breath before her mouth opens. The whole thing is unreal, but I’m so curious, I sit there and try not to say a word.
She finally looks up at me. “Your father and I had just gotten married. We lived out here at the time, not in Louisiana. We were heading home from work, driving on the I-15 when I started to feel carsick. I never got carsick, honey. Never. But that night, I felt ill. Your dad stopped on the side of the highway so I could get some fresh air. We walked down to a small embankment because I thought I’d throw up, which I did. He ran back to the car to get me some tissues, and…honey, your dad was looking for some tissues from the driver side. He walked around to the trunk when he didn’t find any, and that’s when a distracted guy on a motorcycle hit the open driver door…”
Mom is shaking now. It’s as though she’s reliving the whole thing. “It was horrible. I heard the impact and turned around to see the man’s body thrown from his bike. Your father tried to help him, but the impact…he died instantly. There was so much blood…I was already a nurse at that time, but I couldn’t help him. No one could. We tried to start the car and take him to the hospital. I performed CPR while your dad did everything he could to start the engine. The impact of the crash damaged our car. It wouldn’t start, and back then, neither of us had cell phones. Your father tried to wave down passing vehicles. But nobody stopped…it was horrible.
“And then out of nowhere, we heard the roar of a convoy of bikes. It was members of the Mongols MC. The guy who hit our car was one of their members. They stopped. Someone put him into a sidecar and drove him away. The others blamed your father. They told him if anything happened to the guy, he’d pay for it. A life for a life. We tried to tell them it wasn’t your father’s fault but those men… they just didn’t want to hear it. The next day, they showed up at our house for your father. But someone had looked into him and knew he was an architect with access to a lot of information they felt could be valuable. They told him they’d come calling one day, and that when that day came, he’d be asked to do as he was told to pay off his debt.
“Around when you were two, they showed up at our house again.” Mom starts to shake. Tears fill her eyes. “It was horrible…One of their guys…he was a sadist. I’m so sorry…your father and I tried so hard to stop him. All we ever wanted was to protect you.”
“What did he do? Is that where I got this birthmark from? It’s a scar?”
She nods and bursts into body-wracking sobs that don’t stop for a while. I wait for her to continue. I can’t believe Cindy was right.
“It’s a scar from a cigar burn,” she says when she can speak again. “That man that did that to you was the uncle of the guy that died in the motorcycle crash. The only way he’d be satisfied with letting your father live was if he could make him understand the kind of pain he caused. Your dad… he tried everything. He offered his life to spare you. I pleaded with the man too, but his guys held us down, pointed guns at our heads. Then he did that to you. It was horrible, hearing you cry, knowing the man could stop if he had a heart. After he did it, he had one of his men take pictures of your burn. He kept saying the brand would remind us all about the price of taking a life. He never accepted that what happened to his nephew was a tragic accident. It was easier to blame us.
“After all that, he still held it over your father. The man told him that if he didn’t cooperate, he’d need these pictures to identify your… your dead body. That’s why he left with the Mongols MC that day. Your father never told me exactly what he’d done for them. He was gone for a few weeks, and when he came back home, he said it was over. I know this sounds horrible, but your dad kept begging them to just kill him. That didn’t happen because they weren’t done with him. But your father wasn’t about to keep us here to find out.”
“Was it?”
“I’ll put it this way. We packed up and moved to Louisiana that same night he came back.”
“We moved out there to run?”
“It was more to cut ties. To put some distance between them and us. They never came looking for us for close to two decades. But…” she gives me a somber look but won’t say more.
I have to ask. “Did dad really die in an accident at work three years ago?”
I don’t know what to believe as truth in my life anymore. Cindy made one little tug in the fabric of my past, and everything unravels. And I have to wonder about my father’s death.
“Scaffolding doesn’t just collapse on a Saturday when Dad was the only person at the job site.”
Mom still won’t speak.
“Please tell me the truth.”
“He died at work, love, but you’re right that it probably wasn’t an accident. We just had no proof that the collapse was sabotage. The piece of metal that killed him pierced his heart. He was killed instantly. I’m so sorry you had to learn about it this way. I didn’t see the point of casting doubt on the life he led. After he passed, no one ever tried to look for us. It ended with dad’s passing.”
I move closer and wrap my arms around her. “I’m not happy you kept this from me, Mom, but think I understand why. I forgive you.”
Mom buries her head in her hands and sobs for a long time.
“We should go,” I tell her after a while. “Your rich gossipy friends are probably wondering what happened.”
This is unreal.
When I get back to my car, I take a chance and phone Cindy. She answers on the first ring.
“Hello?” she answers.
“It’s Molly. I spoke to my mother. She told me everything.”
“Good.”
“I just have one question.”
“Go ahead.”
“How did you recognize my scar?”
“It’s not what you think.”
“After the story my mother just told me, trust me, you wouldn’t have the least idea what I’m thinking.”
“It was a different time back then. The MCs had more solid alliances. I remember because I saw the pictures of that scar on your wrist. Someone in the Mongols gave it to Silas’s father because they felt the MC had gone too far by allowing one of their head guys to torture a child. What you should know is the man who did that to you…let’s just say he eventually got a dose of his own medicine, times a thousand.”
“My mother says that our debt was paid, if you still think the Mongols have some claim on me.”
“That’s good. I’m sorry,” she adds in a heavy voice.
“No. Don’t apologize. I wouldn’t know a thing if you didn’t tell me. Thank you.”
We end the call.
I’m not the person I was when I work up this morning.
My past is filled with secrets.
&nb
sp; It’s no wonder I’m secretive myself. I cringe about the cigar burn, that it’s another key to the person I am today. I want to push down the idea that maybe it’s why I have this weird fixation with my tolerance for pain, and that I probably got into boxing because somewhere deep down, I still have unresolved emotions that cause my desire to fight.
I don’t know where this information will take me next. Maybe to a couch of a psychiatrist. Or back into the ring after this baby is born.
I wrap my arms around myself, wishing Tate was with me now.
Chapter 24
Tate
“Fuck,” I groan in my sleep, shifting slightly on the sweaty sheets. “That feels amazing.”
Whatever I’m dreaming about has just kicked it up a fucking notch…or eight. My blue balls are being alleviated in a big way as a slick, tight mouth works my dick. I grip the sheets in my fists. Jesus, the girl has a mouth on her. I don’t need to see her to enjoy it.
Wait.
Don’t need to see her?
Aren’t I dreaming?
I should be able to see. I force myself to open my eyes.
“Fuck! Molly, what the fuck are you doing here?”
I spring up from the sheets, and the movement sends my hard cock further down the back of Molly’s throat. I blink hard, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. She’s still here, between my legs, going to town. Every part of me wants to tell her to keep going, to lean back and close my eyes and let her continue. She looks up at me seductively and mumbles something.
“Molly. Get my dick outta your mouth and talk to me.”
Slowly, she pulls back. “I’ve missed this,” she whines, sitting back on her knees right there between my legs on the bed.
“What?”
“This.”
“What exactly, Moll?”
She starts in on me with her tight little fist gliding up and down my shaft, and I buck my hips whether I want to or not. “This.”
“Fuck.” I don’t know what to do or say. She’s fisting my shaft and driving me closer. I can cum any second now. She probably won’t believe me if I admit I haven’t slept with a soul since she packed up her bags and left the clubhouse over two weeks ago.
“Shut up and let me touch you,” she rasps out, switching up her technique.
My head falls back onto the bed. There’s something so right and so fucking wrong with this picture. My scrambled half-asleep brain tries to shove the pieces of the puzzle together. It sure would help me out if the mother of my child would stop purring like a kitten. I can feel the vibrations all the way up in my balls. I can’t think past the orgasm about to twist through my man parts.
“Oh yeah, that’s it, baby,” I groan, then bolt upright in the bed again. “No, Molly. Stop. We ain’t doing this unless you and I have a chat.”
She releases my dick and glares at me. “Please don’t give me that bullshit. Just because I’m carrying your baby doesn’t mean everything between us has to be serious. I don’t care if you fucked all the sack demons and every woman in sight while I was gone. I care, but I’m back…we can use a condom before you—”
“Stop right there,” I say, cutting her off. I haven’t slept with anyone else, I’m not ready to admit to that. “You and I need to talk.”
“I told you I don’t want to discuss anything. I came all the way here for you. Don’t try to turn this around.”
“It’s three in the morning, woman.”
“Wasn’t I doing it the way you like?”
“Don’t go there. You never disappoint… Will you stay on the topic?”
“What’s the problem?” She pouts those perfect lips …Awww, hell. I’m going to lose it. Her hand returns to my shaft, idly working my dick. I moan and settle into her sure, supple movements as those pouty lips wrap around the tip. Yes, I fucking missed this too. I close my eyes, then open them again to enjoy the image of Molly’s head between my legs. There’s nothing to regret. She knows how to please me. I groan beneath her touch. Maybe if I wasn’t acting like such a douchebag, things would’ve gone better. After all, I know where she lives. I could’ve gone to see her and demand answers. But I’m glad she’s here now, working her magic. I grip a handful of her hair, directing her motions as she whimpers.
“That’s it, right there.” I forget whatever I was objecting to earlier. My hips lift off the bed each time her head lowers down along my shaft. I hear and feel her moan with pleasure. “Take it, baby. Just like that…”
She does something with her tongue around the tip, and the suction of her mouth just about takes me over the edge. But I don’t want to come in her mouth. I want to be inside her, nice and deep, to own her again. Shit. I lean forward and pull her up, lifting her on top of me. Then I see why she’s been enjoying herself so much. She’s naked from the waist down, drenched from touching herself. She stretches her hand up to the top drawer of my night table, pulling out the condoms I keep there, and rips the side of one open with her teeth. Looking me in the eye, she rolls it slowly over my thick, engorged cock while I try to figure out a nice way to get her to stop so I can—
Wait, so I can what?
Tell her how I’m feeling?
So I can get serious with the woman who may or may not still be carrying my kid? I shudder. I almost don’t want to know if she’s still pregnant. If she went and got rid of my boy, it would tear me up. How the hell does any of it make any damn sense? Molly’s here. I want her here, yet I’m partway turning down one hell of a blowjob, a hand job, and her sweet tight pussy now, because why exactly?
“Tell me what you’re thinking, Tate,” she says, her hand still gripped around my wrapped dick. “Then we can go back to this.”
I snap out of it. Now I’m angry.
“You haven’t answered any of my calls since you left here two weeks ago. I have to rely on Axe or Silas to know you’re fine. I’m the father of that baby, and I hope to God you’re still carrying him!”
“Excuse me?” She lets go, and suddenly my cock is very cold. I jolt up in bed again. My little wildcat is off the bed, standing in the middle of my room, sexy and mad as hellfire.
“What the hell do you want me to think, Molly? If you have to do what you have to do, I’m not okay with it, but dammit I have a right to fucking know.”
Molly finds her panties and jeans and drags them up her body faster than I could’ve ever taken them off. “Call me again when you get your head out of your ass, or you figure out how the hell you want to handle this baby daddy drama, Mr. Sensitive.”
“Don’t go…how are we supposed to have a conversation if you keep running away every time I open my mouth?” I ask. “Do you even know how hard this all is for me too?”
Probably not, because she’s already in the hallway, slamming the door behind her.
Fuck this.
I need a drink.
I throw on some clothes and stick my piece in the side of my waistband. My hand lands on the door at the same time that Axe pushes it open.
“It’s meeting time. Los Diablos are ready for the sit-down.” Axe shoves his thumb in the direction of the stairs and eyes my hand on my gun. “You need to leave that here too. President’s orders.”
Axe leaves and I’m still standing in the same spot, blinking at an empty hallway. My fingers grip the piece. After I stick the gun in my safe and straighten my cut, I can’t focus knowing that Molly showed up and now I’m the one leaving. I want answers, but she’s not in the sharing mood. I make it downstairs and find the guys all waiting at the main entrance, serious and tense.
“The two of you need to kiss and make up,” Cole says. “This shit’s getting old.”
“All right,” Silas shouts and pushes through the front door. “That’s enough. We’ve got business to handle. I need everyone focused on this peace treaty talk. The last thing we need is another firefight, okay? And I hope we’re all unarmed.”
“You got it, boss man.” I’m angry all over again when I glance over at my empty parking spot. “I
still can’t get over this. Why’d we let that Jett fucker live? Fucking piece of shit destroyed my ride.”
“We’re working on a new one, buddy.”
“Unless you want the money to go toward a kickass baby shower.”
Axe laughs and squeezes my shoulder, but quickly takes a step back. I’m not in the mood for jokes about my ride or the kid Molly may or may not still be carrying.
“No one mentions my kid.”
There. A nice, threatening blanket statement for everyone within earshot. That should do it.
Axe shrugs and shakes his head. “Si, you sure you want this motherfucker in the Los Diablos meeting? I don’t know if we’ll even make it through the front door.”
“He’ll be fine.”
I walk off and hop up into the truck with Cole.
He shoots me a sympathetic smile. “Let’s ride, brother.”
Chapter 25
Tate
Great, this pat-down is a little less sexual, but no less involved as a Los Diablos feels me up from ankle to ass to shoulder. I cuss and whine when the guy shoves a hand near my ribs a little too hard. I don’t move although it’d be my pleasure to clock the guy in the jaw. Which just shows my willpower. Now, if only I can get my head in the game. I trail behind the rest of my brothers and sit at the opposite end of a long, gnarled wooden table.
“How’s this meeting going to go down? Are we supposed to smoke a joint and make peace?” I sit back in my chair and light up a cig, arching a brow.
“You’ll have to excuse this cranky fucker over here,” Silas addresses Antonio Vasquez, the Los Diablos’ MC president, yanking out a cigarette of his own, and playing with it between his teeth. He gives me a glare to warn me that I’d best be keeping my mouth shut. It’s not my place to talk at these meetings. “We don’t want any trouble. I think we all know that, right?”
“That’s all fucking well and good, boss,” Vasquez replies. “You already know we didn’t attack your MC for the heck of it. We had a backer who paid handsomely for the work done. It wasn’t personal, and we won’t take your visit to our compound personally either. You get my drift?”
Filthy Daddy (Satan's Saints MC #2) Page 14
