A Ride or Die Kind of Love

by Chelsea Camaron

  “You look so pretty,” he said, giving me a cute kiss on my cheek.

  “Thanks, baby,” I whispered. “And you look very, very handsome.”

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” Chase sneered. “How my very handsome son looks nothing like his mother or his father but more resembles Mrs. Gonzalez, our housekeeper.”

  My eyes shot to Chase. It wasn’t any secret Devin wasn’t his. Devin was dark. Both he and Kami were light. Devin had black hair, dark features, and tanned skin that had nothing to do with sun exposure. He was taller and broader than any other four-year-old I’d ever met. He looked every bit his father’s son.

  His father…Cox.

  Kami glared at Chase. Thankfully, Devin seemed oblivious as always to Chase’s digs.

  “Kind of hard to have a child that looks like you,” she hissed softly, “when your wife refuses to fuck you.”

  He shrugged. “As much fun as it was to fuck a dead fish, I’ve since found much better. Much, much better.”

  I closed my eyes. I had to get out of here.

  Giving Devin another big hug, I stood. “Let’s do lunch tomorrow. And some shopping,” I suggested to Kami. “There’s a new thrift store in SoHo that Snickers said has a boatload of mint condition vinyls.” I tried to smile. “You know I have to hit that up.”

  “Who’s Snickers?” Devin asked.

  “One of Papa Fox’s friends from the club,” Kami said. “All he eats are Snickers bars.”

  “What lovely names they all have,” Chase muttered.

  “Evie, lunch and shopping tomorrow sounds perfect, but I want today, too. I was just about to drop Devin downstairs for a playdate. I’ll only be a minute, and then we can go get pedicures. My treat. Sound good?”

  “OK,” I whispered, glancing at Chase, knowing he was going to be pissed at me.

  Kami glanced over at Chase, then back at me, and her eyes narrowed.

  “One minute, don’t leave,” she said, grabbing Devin’s hand.

  The elevator doors closed behind them.

  “Cancel with Kami,” he demanded. “Go straight to the Waldorf.”

  “God, you’re an asshole,” I hissed.

  I found myself pressed up against the elevator as Chase’s erection ground against me. I sucked in a breath.

  “You want me,” he said coldly.

  God, I did. I wanted him badly. Right here, right now.

  “Go, Eva. I’ll be there shortly.”

  Thirty minutes later, I was at the Waldorf begging Chase to fuck me.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Deuce watched Eva tear out of Kami’s building looking like a brunette version of Kami—the hair, the clothes, the makeup, and she’d dropped a good twenty pounds. What had happened in the three months since he’d seen her last?

  He came to Manhattan for two reasons. One, he had a lead on Eva’s hit; two, he wanted to see Eva; three, he wanted to see Eva; and four, he had to fucking see Eva, or he was going to go insane. So more than two reasons.

  Three days ago, accompanied by Mick and Cox, he pulled out of midday Manhattan traffic into the Silver Demons MC parking lot. He had just removed his helmet when he saw some pretty-boy asshole step out of the front doors of the club, accompanied by Eva and Preacher.

  He signaled his boys to remain where they were as he watched the three of them interact. Preacher stuck his hand out and shook the pretty boy’s hand, and then retreated into the club.

  The pretty boy focused on Eva, and his chest went tight. He’d seen that look before; it’s the look a man gets when he’s looking at something he wants inside of.

  Gripping Eva’s chin, the pretty boy backed her up against the club doors.

  Cox’s hand came down on his shoulder. “Breathe, Prez. She’s not exactly fightin’ him off.”

  No, she wasn’t. She had her arms wrapped around his neck, gripping him, while the fucker gnawed on her face and groped her backside like he was digging for change. None of this made sense to him. She ran away from him to help Frankie, but how she was going to accomplish that by fucking some uptown douchebag was beyond him.

  Something was up. Something he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like.

  “Mick,” he hissed. “Find out who the fuck that is.”

  His VP’s eyes met his. Mick thought his relationship with Eva was fucked-up, and he made no bones about telling him.

  They stared at each other. Mick gave first. “On it, Prez,” he said quietly.

  The pretty boy strolled arrogantly down the walk and slid inside a sleek silver Aston Martin DB9. When he pulled out into traffic, Mick’s Harley pulled out behind him, and they both disappeared into the mess of New York City traffic.

  Eva sat down on the front steps, slumped forward, and buried her face in her hands.

  Fuck him. Something was way off.

  “Somethin’ goin’ down here, Prez,” Cox muttered. “Your girl’s not lookin’ too good.”

  “I get that,” he growled. “And she’s not my girl. Not sure she ever fuckin’ was.”

  “Load of fuckin’ crap,” Cox said. “Seen the way you two look at each other. Like no one else in the world exists.”

  He cut his eyes at his RC. “You a fuckin’ poet?”

  Cox shrugged. “If that’s what it takes to get laid, then I’m a fuckin’ poet. Other times, I’m a fuckin’ accountant. Or a plumber. Sometime’s a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

  Cox pretending to be an accountant with all his piercings and tattoos was just about the funniest thing he had ever heard.

  “Come on, Prez. Let’s go to Queens.” Cox slapped him on the back. “We came here for a reason. And that fuckin’ reason is to keep that woman of yours breathin’.”

  They went to Queens. They tortured and killed two independent gravediggers to get the information they needed. Then they crossed the Hudson and took out the hit. The asshole had a file on Eva as thick as a phone book—full of photos, addresses, and schedules. Despite not needing to bury her unless Frankie kicked it, the digger was thorough and ready at the drop of a hat to get his job done.

  The digger had been paid to kill her; he didn’t know Eva from a hole in the wall, but Deuce knew her and he loved her. Because of this love, instead of giving the asshole a merciful death, he prolonged the pain and let him bleed for a good long time before finally stopping his heart. It didn’t make him feel any better about the pretty boy with his tongue shoved down Eva’s throat, but it relieved some pent-up aggression.

  Until he found out who the pretty boy was. Then all that aggression came back tenfold.

  So he followed her. He watched her run out of Kami’s building and hail a cab. He followed her to the Waldorf Astoria and watched her wave to the doormen like she fucking knew them and disappeared inside. Not even ten minutes later, he watched Chase pull up in his DB9, toss his keys to the valet, and stride through the doors.

  He wanted to kill something. No, he wanted to kill Chase.

  Instead, he waited. He waited all day and all night and neither of them came out.

  At dawn, when the sun was cresting, Eva came walking through the front doors looking half-asleep, pale, and disheveled. A doorman moved quickly, ready to hail her a cab, but he didn’t give her the option. His Harley roared to life; he gunned it straight across four lanes of traffic and came to a rubber-burning, tire-squealing stop directly in front of her.

  Her mouth fell open.

  “Get the fuck on,” he growled. “I won’t tell you twice.”

  Her mouth worked soundlessly for several moments, and just as he was getting really impatient and angry, she burst into tears and threw herself into his arms.

  Fuck.

  Flipping off the gaping doormen, he held her for a long time just breathing her in, knowing she’d just fucked another guy, smelling him and the sex they had on her, and feeling like crushing skulls with his bare hands because of it. But he kept it reeled in because she was in his arms, she was seeking comfort from him, and she needed him,
so whatever the fuck she’d been doing while they’d been apart didn’t matter unless she started doing it again. And since he was going to put Chase to ground the minute he got a chance, he figured there was no chance of that happening anyway.

  “Get on, Eva,” he said. “I’m taking you home, and then I’m taking you home with me.”

  She surprised the fuck out of him. She got on without a word, without an ounce of fight, and no attitude tossed his way. This scared him more than the tears and more than her selling her pussy to save Crazy Frankie. If his girl was broken, someone sure as fuck was going to die for that.

  Preacher met them in the hallway of the club; Cox and Mick were by his side. He took one look at his daughter’s red eyes and puffy, blotchy face, and lost it.

  “What the fuck?” Preacher shouted. “What happened?”

  When her old man tried to touch her, she shrank away from him and buried her face in his armpit. Not his first choice of a hiding place seeing as he just spent twenty-four hours in the same clothing, but she didn’t seem to care, so he didn’t move her and just held her tight.

  Preacher looked bewildered. The man really didn’t have a clue something was wrong with his daughter.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Preacher demanded.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Where’s her fuckin’ room?”

  “You think I’m gonna let you take my daughter up to her fuckin’ room? I haven’t fuckin’ forgotten what you did when she was just a kid.”

  “Daddy!” Eva whirled around, glaring. “I’ve been fucking Deuce since I was eighteen! I wanted to fuck him when I was sixteen! Maybe I even wanted him when I was twelve, too! Who knows! What I do know is I have been in love with him since I was five! So get over it! And don’t you dare shoot him, or I’ll shoot you!”

  Cox slapped his hand over his mouth and turned away.

  Mick rolled his eyes.

  Preacher’s jaw dropped.

  Oh…shit. At least he knew her fire was still burning bright, but still…oh, shit. He didn’t have a good track record dealing with his bitch’s fathers. For some reason, they never liked him, and the one in front of him had already shot him twice.

  “Don’t fuckin’ shoot me again,” he growled. “I didn’t do shit to her when she was twelve. That shit when she was sixteen, that wasn’t my fault. I was shitfaced, and she was jerkin’ herself off on my fuckin’ belt buckle, and her tits were bouncin’ in my face, and what the fuck, I’m only fucking human. I blame her tits for the whole fuckin’ thing. But every time I fucked her she was fuckin’ legal. So no fuckin’ shootin’. This time I’ll shoot back.”

  “Tact, Prez,” Cox muttered. “You fuckin’ need some.”

  Both Eva and her old man were gaping at him.

  “Did you seriously just say all of that to my daddy?”

  He looked down at her. “What? You’re the fuckin’ dumbass who brought it up. It’s the fuckin’ truth anyway.”

  “The fuckin’ truth,” Preacher muttered, “is I already knew she was a willin’ participant, you fuckin’ idiot. Doesn’t change the fact that you took advantage of a sixteen-year-old girl.”

  “Daddy,” Eva hissed. “How old was my mother when you knocked her up?”

  Preacher’s eyes shot to his daughter. “Deuce is forty-eight, Eva! I’m fifty-five! Don’t that seem a little fucked-up to you?”

  “How old, Daddy?” she demanded.

  “Six-fuckin’-teen,” he said darkly, glaring at her.

  Damn. Looked like his old man and Preacher had some shit in common. At least he didn’t belong to that fucking club. That was something. Sorta.

  “Yeah,” she shot back. “And how old were you?”

  “Eva!”

  “Daddy!”

  “I was twenty-four,” he snarled.

  She folded her arms across her chest and cocked her hip out. “Huh,” she said. “Interesting.”

  “Yeah,” he shot back. “Fuckin’ interesting. Your old man was a fuckin’ idiot who fell in love with a junkie runaway who took off runnin’ scared after she gave birth to you! Real fuckin’ interesting! Didn’t get to spend nearly enough time lovin’ her, treatin’ her to all the shit her parents never gave her, and all the women since her have been fuckin’ bed warmers, nothin’ more! Excuse the fuck outta me for not wantin’ that kinda shit for my baby!”

  Preacher’s eyes had gone glossy halfway through his revelation, and now tears were flowing freely down his cheeks. Everyone stared. Preacher didn’t cry. Preacher killed in cold blood. But there it was.

  “Didn’t matter ’cause I fucked you up anyway, baby girl,” Preacher rasped. “Didn’t see how bad Frankie was ’til it was too late. Trapped you in that shit without even knowin’ it. Shoulda got him help a long time ago. Shoulda gotten you away from him. Shoulda done fuckin’ somethin’.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “He’s not getting out anytime soon, and he’s getting the help he needs.”

  This made Mick stomp off down the hallway. His boys wanted Frankie dead. He wanted Frankie dead, but Eva and Preacher loved Frankie. Deuce got that. You can’t turn feelings on and off like a fucking light. He knew. He tried. He tried to love his wife, and he tried to stop loving Eva. Neither worked.

  That said, Frankie still needed to go to ground.

  “Eva!” Hurricane Kami came bursting through the front doors. Kami shoved him out of her way, grabbed Eva by her upper arms, and started screaming.

  “You fucking idiot! Why didn’t you tell me what he was doing? For God’s sake, Eva, you didn’t have to fuck him! Do you know how much dirt I have on that skanky asshole? Tons, Eva, tons! I would have broken him down in time!”

  “Frankie didn’t have time!” Eva screamed back. “Chase wouldn’t meet with me until Frankie got put in solitary!”

  Deuce saw red. The asshole didn’t just play on her love for Frankie; he outright cornered her with her love for Frankie.

  Preacher’s gaze darted back and forth between Kami and his daughter. “Eva, what the fuck did Kami just say?”

  They both ignored him.

  “Oh, Evie,” Kami cried. “I’m going to kill him! You are too good and too sweet, and a man like Chase didn’t deserve a taste of that kind of beautiful!”

  If she kept saying shit like that about his woman, maybe he could learn to like Kami.

  “How did you find out?” Eva whispered.

  Kami let out a frustrated breath. “He came home like twenty minutes ago informing me that our marriage was over.” She snorted. “Can you believe him? I was like, ‘What marriage?’ and started laughing at him. He got pissed, told me about you, told me you guys were together, told me you were having his baby, but left Frankie out of it. Only I knew, I just knew, you would never touch him without a good reason! And, I knew that reason was Frankie! Avoiding me for months, the clothes, Evie, the makeup, the Jimmy fucking Choos…I am not stupid!”

  “I’m gonna ask one more time, Eva,” Preacher growled. “What the fuck is Kami talking about?”

  He stared at Eva.

  She was pregnant.

  His woman was pregnant. And it wasn’t his.

  All eyes were on Eva, but she only had eyes for him, and damn her fucking eyes, but he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t even blink.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He blinked.

  “Kami?” Cox said quietly, his voice unusually low. His head swiveled to his RC.

  Kami, noticing Cox for the first time, shrieked and scrambled backward. That’s when he saw the little boy she was shoving behind her. Eva jumped beside her, and they created a wall.

  “Wait,” Kami whispered, holding her palms up. “You don’t understand.”

  Confused, he looked at Cox’s furious expression, then back at the little boy who was scared out of his mind, peeking out between Kami and Eva’s legs.

  Understanding dawned. Little shit looked just like the bigger shit.

  Fuck. This was going to get ugly.
There were two things in the world Cox truly cared about. The club. And his daughter. If he had known he had a son, the kid would have been on that list, too.

  “What don’t I understand?” Cox hissed. “I don’t understand that there’s a fuckin’ kid standing behind you ’bout four fuckin’ years old who looks just like me? I don’t understand that I fucked his mother thirty ways from fuckin’ Sunday the last time I fuckin’ saw her, which was when, bitch? Five fuckin’ years ago? Is that what I don’t understand?”

  Preacher stepped in front of Kami. “You’re talkin’ shit ’bout the boy’s mother right in front of him, which is bad enough. But that mother is family and so is the boy, and talkin’ shit to my family does not happen in my fuckin’ club.”

  “Fuck off, Demon,” Cox spat. “In case you haven’t noticed, that’s my fuckin’ kid!”

  “Yeah, asshole, I fuckin’ noticed. Hard not to when he looks just like ya.”

  “Would everyone shut the fuck up?” Kami screamed. “He doesn’t know about you! All you’re doing is scaring the crap out of him!”

  Preacher shoved between Kami and Eva and scooped up the little boy.

  “Once I get Devin upstairs and out of fuckin’ earshot from you lot of assholes, you can resume fuckin’ screamin’ at one another.” He looked at Eva. “Me and you, baby girl, are gonna be havin’ words. If what I think happened actually happened, I’m gonna get real trigger twitchy.”

  Nobody said a word until Preacher disappeared into the stairwell. Once he was gone, Cox exploded.

  “This is so fucked, bitch! Hiding a man’s kid from him! Really fuckin’ fucked!”

  “You crazy fuck!” Kami screamed. “You live in Montana. You’re married. You already have a kid! I live in New York, and I’m married! What was I supposed to do?”

  “What you were s’posed to do, bitch, was tell me you fuckin’ shit out my kid!”

  “You’re disgusting!” Kami hissed. “A dirty, disgusting biker whore!”

  Cox’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Bitch, you think I’m fuckin’ disgusting? Were you or were you not the same fuckin’ whore who was ridin’ my cock bareback, shovin’ your fuckin’ tits in my mouth, begging me to bite harder, while Ripper drilled into your fuckin’ ass?”