Ryker
I’m d-r-u-n-k-k-k. Three sheets to the wind and lovin’ it! No aches. No pain. Not a thaaang. Sure, my brain’s fuzzy, my eyelids droopy, and I’m buzzy warm from pecker to ear tips. It’s per-fuckin-fect. Almost better than sex. Almost. I can’t remember the last time I consumed this much drankkk. A beer and pain med cocktail ain’t good for my liver, kidneys, or other vital organs. You think I give two good goddamns about that? Nope, Kemosabe. I needed this.
Head tipped back, I melt into the soft leather of the couch. Arms spread on either side of me, manspreading as I bask in the chill party. The sweet scent of Mary Jane perfumes the air. Classic rock pulses, making the windowpanes rattle. The only thing that could make this night better is Kat bein’ here, sittin’ on my lap, kissin’ on this mouth that aches to consume hers. Instead, I’m watching two naked babes, standin’ less than six feet away; finger each other, as they make out in a mess of sloppy lust. It's normal. Nothin’ outta the ordinary for the clubhouse. Two of my fellow brothers are shamelessly droolin’ over the display with woodies tentin’ their jeans. The chicks do nothin' for me. Can’t say it’s not a little hot to watch two chicks goin’ at it. Who doesn’t love a bit of chick on chick action? But, the mister in my pants ain’t twitched or nothin’. It could be from my drunken state of this-is-fuckin’-heaven. Though, I think it’s got more to do with Kat than anything. Her voodoo pussy put a spell on me. And now I’m hers.
A long-haired sexpot with huge jugs flounces around the edge of the sofa, comin’ straight for me. Without sayin’ a word, she straddles my good leg, restin’ her thong wrapped cunt on my thigh. Both of her manicured hands lay on my shoulders as she leans in close to talk above the music.
“Hey, Ryker,” she purrs, her eyelashes fluttering. The scent of alcohol tinges her breath.
“Sup?” My head lolls to the side, and I grin halfcocked, bein’ friendly.
The babe drops a hand to my johnson and squeezes it through the denim.
I chuckle. “Sorry, sweetheart. You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. My dick’s under new management.”
Blondie’s bottom lip juts into an exaggerated pout. On my little Tiger, it’d be adorable. On this chick, not so much. She needs to get up. I’m not in the mood to play games, get a lap dance, nor pry her greedy paws off my dick. The same dick that she’s trying to wake up by strokin’ him earnestly outside my jeans. Did this bitch not hear me? This ain’t a strip club. I didn’t come here to get fondled. I came here to be with my brothers and get lit. If I wanted pussy, I’d go home to get it.
Refusing to give up, she presses those bare tits to my chest and mouths my jaw. Yeah, that’s enough. I’ve been nice. Didn’t wanna be an asshole to her, but she’s pushed too far. You don’t put your lips anywhere near my face unless I give you permission.
“Hey!” I twist my head away so she’ll get the hint. “Get. Off.” I nudge her shoulder, tryin’ hard not to shove her onto the floor like an insensitive prick.
My words don’t penetrate.
She ain’t listenin’.
That glossy mouth of hers attacks my throat, and I see red.
“Knock it off!” I roar, grippin’ a fistful of hair to yank her off. Which the bitch must take as foreplay when she moans like a whore, tryin’ to grind her pussy on my sore thigh.
Before I can finish correcting the jacked up situation, the blonde’s torn off my leg. Body flying backward she lands hard on the floor in a mess of limbs. Confused by what the hell just happened, I glance up at the same moment a fist connects with my jaw. Whoa! My head snaps to the side. Pain explodes. Teeth rattle. I bite my tongue, tasting copper. The circuits in my brain malfunction for a long second before they click back on. Blinking a few times, I rub my sore face and swallow down the disgusting taste of blood, wincing.
Another slow blink and my addled brain focuses blearily on the pixie bitch standin’ across from me fuming. What makes matters worse, is Kade’s holdin’ her back. She’s ready to commit murder.
Knowin’ this ain’t good, I raise both hands in surrender. “I wasn’t doin’ anything bad, Rosie.”
Volcanic fire blazes in her eyes, promising me a slow, agonizing death. “The hell you weren’t! I was just at your place. Spendin’ time with your woman. And this is what she gets? You touchin’ somebody else!” As this loyal chick spits poison at me, what’s my stupid brother doin’, besides holdin’ her back? He’s got his lovesick nose stuffed in her hair, getting high on Rosie scented perfume. By the blissed-out expression Kade’s wearing, he’s not payin’ a damn bit of attention to the flurry of pissed off crazy this chick is spewin’. Hell, I’m so drunk I can’t make out half of what she’s screamin’ either. There’s something about boiling my balls in acid. How Kat’s gonna find someone better once I’m dead. And I think something about wastin’ her time comin’ here to talk to me when I was busy with some whore. By the time she relents, her face is strawberry red, she’s done fightin’ against Kade’s ironclad restraint, and still, her fists are shakin’ something fierce, ready to knock my block off.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” she seethes.
“What you walked in on was me yankin’ that chick’s hair so she’d get off me. I wasn’t about to fool around with her. I didn’t want her on my lap, she just wasn’t listenin’.” The female in question is gone. Where she ran off to, I could care less about. Good riddance. Even the brothers and two bi girls have disappeared, leavin’ the three of us in the living room, alone. Not that I’m gonna fool myself into thinkin’ people ain’t spying to see what’s going on. At least they’re smart enough to get outta dodge when a woman loses her mind. And here I thought Rosie had more control than that.
Thankfully, my explanation pacifies Rosie enough that she curbs her death stare. “You weren’t about to fuck around?”
Pointin’ to my dick, I shake my head, given her no room to doubt me. “Not in this lifetime. Even if I could stomach bein’ with somebody else, my cock knows who he belongs to. Some dogs only do tricks for their owners. Mine ain’t any different.”
“Good.” Satisfied by my reply, Rosie twists out of Kade’s hold and drops on the couch beside me. Extracting a white envelope from the inside of her black jacket, she haphazardly tosses it onto my lap. “That’s what I came to drop off. But you weren’t home, and Gunz said I had to hand deliver it.”
Pickin’ up the envelope, I finger the unsealed flap. “That why you’re here?”
“I had a mark in Texas. Big gave me 48 hours to finish, and I was done in five. So, I told Gunz I’d do him a solid and deliver this.”
Yeah right. That’s not the only reason she’s here.
“You wanted to check in on Kat,” I state.
“I did,” she concurs, pickin’ lint off her black t-shirt.
“I’m gonna take care of her.” There’s no reason Rosie needs to worry about that. Kat’s mine and I take care of what’s mine.
“I know. If you don’t, you’ll be another mark.” Rosie’s threat flows off her tongue like fine silk.
“Big wouldn’t sanction that.” I smirk. It’s true he wouldn’t. Not that I’d expect her to follow the rules.
Rosie snickers like Lucifer himself as Kade drops down beside her. “I don’t need Big to tell me who I can or can’t kill, Ryker. He’s not my keeper.”
“Heard you took out the rest of the club on your own.” I change the subject. There’s no need to chat any more about my hypothetical demise. I like my blood right where it is. In my veins, not pooled on the floor beneath me.
“I’m good at cleanin’ up Sacred Sinners messes. I heard you’re keepin’ a kid that should’ve been killed.”
This best not be her way of threatening Mouse’s life.
Earlier, after we got up those horrendous stairs, my brother helped me to the living room before he disappeared with Mouse. I haven’t seen the kid since. Kade said he put the boy in his room to shower, and gave him a clean pair of clothes that are way too big. Now,
there’s a club brother stationed outside his bedroom to make sure the kid doesn’t wander off… aka get offed by an inebriated brother who’s yet to be informed.
My gaze meets Rosie’s. “You better not end his life, either. Kade’s takin’ care of him. That’s his business. Not yours.”
She draws shapes on her knee with her pointer finger. “That’s your choice as a club. You do what you want. I don’t take pleasure in killin’ kids.”
That’s nice to hear. At least she has a moral code, unlike the infatuated school boy that can’t stop ooglin’ her like she’s his next meal. I knew Kade had a thing for this chick. I just didn’t realize to what extent. He hides it well when he’s not intoxicated.
Slippin’ two fingers into the envelope, I remove a tri-folded piece of white paper. “What’s this?” I jiggle the floppy document, watchin’ it flap back and forth.
“The truth.”
“About what?”
“Why don’t you read it and find out?”
“’Cause I don’t like surprises.”
“Read it, Ryker,” Rosie stresses.
Sighing, I carefully unfold the paper. A blur of black ink in two boxes greets me. Yet, my eyes zero in on the bold 99.999% inked at the bottom. Beside it reads, “probability of paternity” which means…
“He.” I clear my throat roughly. “He’s mine,” I mutter to myself, scanning the paperwork that has my name and Walker’s.
Fuck.
Fuuuck.
Closin’ my eyes, I take a deep breath and let it out. This… Fuck… Kat was right all along. She knew.
Christ!
I scrub a palm over the top of my head blindly reading the paternity results in… astonishment.
My pulse races.
Mouth goes dry.
Tears gather in the corner of my eyes as a tidal wave of intense emotion consumes me. I’ve got a son with a woman that’s not Kat. I put a baby in another woman’s belly. This is wrong. So fuckin’ wrong. I knew it was possible. Hell, I’d married Vanessa because I believed it to be true. Yet, here I am freakin’ out. Gunz had to have known I needed this delivered so I couldn’t deny the results. ‘Cause I damn well would have.
Walker’s mine and I still don’t believe it.
It doesn’t feel real.
Snatchin’ my bottle of Bud off the floor, I bring it to my lips and drain the last half in one breath. I need somethin’ stronger. A fifth of Jack can wash away this gnawing guilt eating my gut. I promised Kat years ago I’d give her three daughters. It was a dream I desperately wanted to come true. Nowhere in that dream did havin’ a son with another woman come into play.
A son.
I have a son.
A son, my old lady, named Walker.
A beautiful boy with dark hair and… my eyes.
My daughters have a brother.
Kat has…
A lone tear treks down my cheek. I brush it away with anger. I’m not some pathetic bastard, so why am I actin’ like this? I did this to myself. Fucked another woman raw, implanted my seed in her, and gave myself a son. A handsome boy with a button nose, his mom’s dark hair and my blue eyes. No, that doesn’t sound right… his birth mother’s dark hair. Yup, that’s better. ‘Cause it takes a fuckuva lot more to be a mom than carryin’ a kid for nine months. Vanessa’s dead. Which leaves Walker in my care. In…
How is Kat gonna react to the news?
What am I gonna say to her?
We should’ve read this together. Found out at the same time.
Movin’ from his spot beside Rosie to sit with me, Kade bumps his shoulder against mine. “You good?”
I drop the paper in his lap to read. He does.
“He’s yours.”
“He’s mine,” I agree, keepin’ my voice deceptively even, when all I wanna do is drive home, wrap Kat in my arms, and beg for forgiveness. For what, I dunno. She loves Walker. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t care for him as she does. But, that fact doesn’t stop my insides from curlin’ into a giant ball of guilt that sits like a boulder in my gut. Life wasn’t supposed to be this way. I was supposed to keep Kat. Not, fuck up and walk out on her. Not, knock-up and marry another woman. Yet, here I sit, facin’ the blunt reality of my decisions. Am I gonna love that baby boy? Hell, yes. I already do. He’s blood. I’d do anything for him. It’s the pain I know I’ve caused my old lady that hurts the most. This news is the icing on the cake of bad decisions. I’ll be forever grateful that Kat has chosen to let our past lie so our future can flourish. I thank God every single day for that. But this… I don’t want her resenting me for it later.
Lost inside my head, I stare vacantly at the wall, and succumb to the onslaught of truths… feelings… life. There’s no use in fighting it. My inebriated brain wouldn’t let me anyhow. So, I let the emotions take hold, and I ride them out.
Kade offers me a shot of something. It slides down smooth. Then another. Side by side we sit, drink, think, chill, and let reality take its course. There’s nothing to say. Nothing to do, except drink to the point my head no longer stands on its own and my eyelids refuse to stay open. The buzz of alcohol-induced warmth slowly corrupts my body ‘til the world tilts. Givin’ up the fight of trying to stay awake, I welcome the blanket of beautiful oblivion with open arms. Anything’s better than beatin’ myself up over something I can no longer fix. Life has a way of hittin’ you below the belt. Right now, I don’t wanna get my nuts crushed. I wanna sleep. I wanna forget. I just want my woman.
Kat
Rosie visited yesterday. She showed up outta the blue when I was reading after the kids went to sleep and kept me company. By that point, I was having a hard time concentrating on the storyline, when all I could think about was Ryker at the clubhouse party doing whatever with whomever. Trust takes a long time to build, and my trust in him is at the seedling stage. One of these days the stem will sprout and grow into a beautiful flower. Until then, I’m stuck where I am, overthinking, worrying, needing him home where I can see him face to face. Sure, the texts helped some. But, they didn’t last long. Once that seed of doubt gets planted it has a way of flourishing like a weed in a forest of hope. That’s why I’m grateful for Rosie’s distraction. We talked. Ate pie together. Caught up on nothing and everything at the same time. It was sort of amazing, considering I don’t have any female friends here besides her. And even that friendship is unusual.
Rosie left late last night, the girls are at school, and Walker is sleeping soundly after a bath and a bottle. My current situation; I’m soaking in a hot bubble bath to calm these intense, albeit sporadic Braxton Hicks contractions. Obviously, it’s been years since I experienced anything like them. Nonetheless, I remember what they feel like, and they suck major donkey dick. Big, fuzzy donkey dick. Ugly, weirdly shaped donkey dick. You catch the drift.
Reclining my head on the ledge of the tub, legs bent at the knees, hands cupping either side of my belly; I ride out the next false contraction. When it’s through, I grab my loofa and pour a generous amount of body wash on it to get clean. If I felt up to it, I’d shave. I’m not. So that’ll have to wait for another day when I’m feeling less green. Even my stomach’s a mess. The eggs and bacon I cooked this morning didn’t settle well. The yogurt I ate for lunch, to soothe my bubble gut, didn’t mask the issue like I hoped it would. If I had a choice, I’d lay in bed all day and sleep. However, when you’re a mom, you don’t get that option. The girls will need dinner, Walker too, among other motherly duties. For now, I’ll bask in the relaxing heat and fuss over my endless to-do list later.
“Kat?” A familiar masculine voice reverberates through the space, coming from the bedroom.
Ryker’s home.
“Yes?” I call.
“You in the tub? Or are you usin’ the toilet?”
“Tub.”
Without an invitation, Ryker opens the bathroom door, wearing a breathtaking smile, eyes bright, face scruffy, showing no signs of a hangover or pain. He’s even changed his clothes. The jean
s are gone, and sweats are back in action. It ought to be illegal for a man to look that damn good in sweatpants.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He scooters forth and takes a seat on the ledge of the tub, drawing a tender finger down my scarred cheek. “I missed you.”
I missed you, too.
A kaleidoscope of butterflies flap in my belly, overriding the waning contraction and mild sickness. I smile bashfully at him.
Ryker dips his hand in the tub to massage my massive belly, which pokes a smidge out of the water. “How’s she doin’? How are you doin’? How’s Walker?”
What’s with the inquisition? Since when does he ask about Walker?
“We’re all fine,” I remark, confusion lacing my words.
“I’m glad to hear it. Well, whenever you’re done, come out to the living room, I’ve got somethin’ to show ya.”
He’s acting weird.
“Um. O-kay.”
Patting the side of our daughter, he continues to smile that same spectacular smile, leans in, pecks my forehead, then he’s gone like a figment of my imagination.
Peculiar
Quite peculiar.
Curious about what Ryker’s up to, I finish washing in record time for a pregnant woman. Which is nowhere close to the land speed record. More like a snail’s pace. Climbing out of the bath isn’t without difficulty. Neither is drying off with an average towel. I’m certain we’ve been over this once before, but there needs to be pregnancy towels for us fat ladies. Get to it marketing people; I wanna wrap my body all the way, not half of it! Soaking up the wetness, I get mostly dry before wrapping the damp towel around my hair in a turban. Clothes are next. Meh. They’re so overrated… albeit essential. The question is, what do I wear? Is this weirdness Ryker’s exuding something that requires proper attire aka maternity leggings and a blouse? Or, can I throw on one of his Harley t-shirts that I’ve begun to stretch out around the tummy, and tug on a pair of his oversized sweats sans panties? They’ve become my go-to duds when I wanna be ultra-comfy. A necessity pretty much all the time, considering walking around the size of the Goodyear blimp isn’t exactly fun. There’s less than a month until my due date, and I’m about to start counting down the days like an advent calendar. Don’t we all do that? In the beginning, you loathe being pregnant due to the sickness. In the middle you love it. Then you reach the final countdown, and you’re ready to do anything, and I do mean anything, to induce labor. Eat spicy food, fuck like rabbits, nipple stimulation, running, jumping, walking, twerking, mowing the lawn, and even drinking castor oil, if you’re desperate enough. I’ve not gotten to that point, but I know some who have. More power to ya. The idea of shitting my brains out while someone pushes on my bladder and kicks my heart isn’t exactly on my bucket list. If you wanna give it a whirl, knock yourself out.
Hopelessly Devoted: (Sacred Sinners MC - Texas Chapter #3) Page 13
