by Nicole Fox
Instinctually, I press nearer to Booster once he’s off the bike. I draw my jacket around me more.
“Don’t worry,” he tells me. “No one’s gonna fuck with you. Come on.”
I don’t know Booster, but there’s something in his tone that makes me believe that that’s true. I nod.
“All right. Lead the way.”
I follow Booster in. The music is louder when we get inside, pounding off the walls and mixing with laughter and shouts. The air is fogged with cigarette smoke; the floor, sticky with spilled beer, holds the occasional crunch of broken glass beneath my feet as Booster leads me back to a table set a little bit away from all the others. I wonder if it’s his table; he’s the president, after all. Maybe he’s special here.
I look around, not feeling completely comfortable here. Eyes flicker over to us as we sit, and I don’t think I like the attention—no matter how much Booster claims I’m not going to be messed with.
I hope his talk is quick.
I’m way out of my element.
Chapter Two
Booster
I’ve had my eyes on her for the last few weeks. I’d seen her around town, and when my curiosity got the better of me, did a little digging to figure out where this dame worked, her general schedule, waiting for my opportunity to be able to get her and talk to her.
She’s a fine thing. Supple curves and soft brown hair I’ve learned she keeps up in a ponytail more than she lets it down. That’s how she has it right now, tied up nice and tight, which is just fine; it shows off her neck, and it’s a smooth, pale curve of flesh that I’ve been dying to sink my teeth in ever since the moment I saw her.
But it’s her eyes—she’s got these gray-blue eyes like a sad sky and I watch as she sits across from me with them darting around, looking cautiously at her surroundings.
I chuckle. I told her not to worry. These are my people and she’s my girl—even if she doesn’t know it yet. No one but me is gonna touch her.
“What do you drink, doll?” I don’t know her name yet, but I will. Her eyes snap to me, and a doe-brown brow raises up at the nickname; I think it takes her off guard, but I like that she doesn’t correct me.
“Just a beer.”
I wave someone over. A waitress, a pretty thing, comes over. She pays me more attention than the woman I’ve brought with me.
“Hey big guy, what’ll you be having tonight?”
“Two beers,” I tell her. I don’t even look at her. She’s not my focus tonight. “And a pitcher.”
“Oh—that’s not necessary.” Doll-Face speaks up. “I’ll only be having one tonight.”
Smart girl.
I smirk, and nod.
“Just two beers, then.”
The waitress flits off, and my attention is taken wholly once more. I lean onto the table as Doll- Face speaks again.
“So. You wanted to talk,” she says. I can tell that now that we’re here, she’s more apprehensive than she was before. I like this. She’s cautious despite the fact I was able to pick her up off the side of the road.
I knew she would be perfect.
“I did. I’ve watched you for some time,” I tell her. “You’re a teacher, aren’t you? You don’t have a boyfriend, not a lot of friends—”
“You’ve been stalking me?” The idea makes her balk, and I see her visibly put more space between us than I’d like.
“Collecting intel,” I correct. “On the woman that I want to carry my child.”
I’m not really about beating around the bush. I figure that I’ve done it long enough now, and she wanted to know what I wanted to talk about—so there it is. I sit back, waiting for her response. Any woman would be happy to get a fuck from me, let alone carry a baby for me—
She starts laughing.
“Oh … wow, okay. I thought that you had some … I don’t know. Serious thing that for some reason you needed to talk to me about but. Oh my gosh.” She giggles some more. “Is this a prank? It’s a very … wow. Odd prank, I’ll give you that. Did my mother put you up to this to finally convince me to get a car instead of walking? Honestly, you can tell her I’m working on it; this was entirely unnecessary—”
“I’m not joking.”
Her face blanks.
“What?”
“I said,” I repeat, leaning onto the table. “I’m not joking. I’m in need of an heir. I want you to give me one.”
She sits across from me, staring at me blankly, trying to process. I allow her the time, this time, because it’s something that I’ve had to think about for the last few months. But a childless president of a club that runs on hierarchy is as good as replaceable. My boys wouldn’t turn on me, I know that for a fact.
It’s the security of the thing. The principle. And I can’t just fuck a kid into some club girl and call it the future president. I need a woman that nurturing and motherly, one that lights up a kid’s heart as much as she sets fire in my loins.
That’s this woman across from me. I knew it the moment I laid my eyes on her.
She’s mine.
“I—what? You don’t even know me,” she says finally. “I don’t know you. What even makes you think—”
“A hundred thousand dollars,” I say. “On top of anything else you want.”
“Excuse me?”
“You walk home, which means you don’t have a car. You’re a teacher, which means that on top of not having a car, there’s probably a lot that you want, that you’re not getting because your salary sucks.” She flushes, and I know that under the indignation, there’s truth.
No one can say I don’t know how to get what I want.
“A hundred thousand, and whatever your heart desires,” I reiterate. “The only strings attached are that I’m the only one allowed at you, before, during, and after you’re pregnant—”
“Whoa there.” She puts her hands up. “This is—you’re assuming a lot!” she exclaims. “I just said we don’t know each other and—and you think just because you’ve watched me a little—which, by the way, is super weird—that you’re just going to tell me that I’m going to do this for you.”
“I’m proposing an offer to you,” I tell her. “But I don’t want to take no for an answer. You won’t have to change anything else about your life. You can still work. You can have your free time. Just give me a child under those conditions. It’s simple.”
Before she can reply, our waitress comes back. She sets down a beer for each of us, and then sashays her ass away again. Doll-Face eyes her beer, but doesn’t drink. Apparently, she’s thought better of doing so. Shame; she could probably go with being a little loosened up.
I see her struggle with this—her head turning over in her mind the figure and conditions that I just laid out. A hundred thousand is change to me, but to a small-time teacher? It’s a little more than a fortune. What’s carrying a baby for nine months in comparison?
“I—” There’s hesitance, but I think for a moment that she’s going to take me up on the offer. That she’s going to give me what I want and what I need.
“I can’t.”
What?
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
“I mean, I can’t. I don’t know you. This is … entirely out of the blue, and while it’s tempting, it wouldn’t be right of me, and it’s certainly not right of you to ask. Now, please. I would like to go home now.”
She’s telling me no. Me, no! I would be infuriated if the fact that her apparently high moral compass wasn’t so impressive, and it wasn’t just presenting another challenge to conquer in front of me.
I can’t force her to carry my child. I’m not that kind of man.
So … I will just need to convince her.
“All right,” I say. I don’t finish my beer, and she hasn’t even drunk hers, but I stand up and straighten out my kutte. “If that’s your answer, then—”
“It is.”
“I’ll take you home.”
She doesn’t look like she
trusts that I’m going to do just that. But she’s way out of her element here. And at the very least? She knows me more than she knows everyone else in this bar. After a moment, she stands too, and tugs her jacket around her some more.
“Will—are you giving me a ride?”
“I drove you out here, didn’t I, doll?”
“My name’s Lena,” she corrects. “And yeah, I suppose …”
“I’m not gonna take you anywhere but your house, all right?”
Again, there’s this furtive glance to me as she weighs her options. I just offered her a hundred grand just to have a baby for me; I’m not about to hurt her.
She resigns herself to this being her one option, shy of having to pay for a taxi to come get her and take her home.
“All right. It’s already late … Let’s go.”
She’s a firecracker in spurts, but I like her timidity. The way she’s unsure—she questions and second guesses. It means that there’s hope. I haven’t lost my opportunity. And as I drive out back to that deserted little road to take her home, I hold onto the fact that I still have a chance.
I just have to hit Lena at the right angle, is all.
The next day, I’m out on a little business. The Wylde Ones are just that—wild. But I like to think we have a bit of structure and purpose that other clubs don’t. We channel our wild into something useful. Constructive.
This morning, constructive was knocking the teeth out of some punk that was harassing Ms. Anders’ granddaughter. Ms. Anders is a sweet lady, owns one of the few family grocery stores in the city; no one messes with her and hers if we have something to say about it. Later in the day it was collecting some dues from people that owed them, standard shit. I can send other people out to handle that kind of shit—I have something more personal to attend to.
I’m standing in the lot of a dealership, looking at cars. How Doll-Face—Lena—doesn’t have one isn’t that surprising considering she’s a teacher, but I figure if that’s the first thing that I rectify with her little issue, then it’ll get me a little closer into her good graces. I need her to give me what I want; I’m not opposed to taking when the situation calls for it, but a leader, a man, knows when to take and when not to.
Right now, I have my eye on a little four-door. Gunmetal silver, almost close enough to match the color of her eyes. It’s got all the fixings inside: Bluetooth connection from phone to the speakers, navigation, heated seats—it’s definitely a pretty penny, but it’s something that I can afford.
And something that I’m sure Lena will love.
The dealer tries to talk me into some sporty deal, two-door death trap, but I decline, settling on this one here.
“Buying for someone special, then?” he asks me. His eyes rove over me; I don’t exactly look like the kind of man that would end up settling on a car.
“Yeah. You can say that.”
I get all the paperwork finalized and make plans to have the car delivered to Lena’s house at the end of the week, as a surprise. In the meantime? I keep to myself. I don’t do anymore nights tailing her on the way home. I don’t even pop by the school to see how she’s doing. I don’t give her a hint that I’m still banking on her being the mother of my child.
I want her to come to me. So, one task down, one more to go.
There’s a lot that you can pick up just from listening around town. Talking to people. People are always willing to talk to me, either because they’re intimidated, or because they’re dazzled by me. Either or works for me.
A few weeks ago, before I even spoke to Lena myself, I’d been sitting around the school, seeing if Lena had a boyfriend or something equally tedious that would get in my way. She had nothing of the sort, of course, but she did have an argument with some old guy I pieced together was the principal of her school. Real tool, if you ask me; Lena’s pretty passionate about her kids and their learning—it’s one of the reasons I want her to have mine. She needs books—up-to-date books—for the English department. I walked up to the principal after she stormed off, pretending like I thought her little display was funny.
“Damsels, eh?” I said to him. “Always barking and yapping at you, huh?”
The asshole agreed with me, laughing off how her tittering was cute to him, and how that was part of the reason that he wouldn’t cough up the funding for books for her. I let him think that I agreed with him, after getting a little more information that I would need out of him. A little digging … a little researching … It didn’t take me all that long to hunt and find just what Lena needed, and now that I’ve put myself on her radar, I set the delivery for that little purchase for the next day.
I satisfy her kids’ needs; I satisfy her needs—then she can satisfy mine. There’s no way she can tell me no.
Chapter Three
Lena
Period doesn’t go there … that’s not how that word is spelled … there needs to be an indentation there … come on, you know how to write an English essay—
It’s just a little after four, and I’m still at work. My odd, wild night of surprise has been shoved very forcibly into the back of my mind. And now? Now I focus on grading English essays that were clearly done the evening before.
Not like I can blame the students. The material is terrible that they’re learning from, and they aren’t interested; I still haven’t found a solution to my book issue.
One hundred thousand dollars.
My red pen stops moving as if of its own accord.
Well. There is a solution to my book problem, but it’s so ludicrous I don’t dare even consider it.
Okay, that’s a lie. I’ve considered it. It’s just insane.
But it doesn’t matter. I haven’t seen hide or hair of Booster Wylde since I turned him down on his offer to have me carry his child. I don’t believe that I’ll be given a second chance to say yes, and even if I was given a second chance to say yes, is money enough to justify something like that?
But it’d give you a child, too. One of your own. Not someone else’s to take care of.
“Ugh!”
I set my pen down on my desk with a hard snap. I’m getting nowhere with these essays with all these stupid, intrusive thoughts of mine. Money … a baby …
“Lena, get a damn grip. You’re not going to justify this to yourself just because he could give you things you want!”
Jeez. I’ve taken to talking to myself out loud, and there’s nothing but silent judgement to answer me back.
I take a moment to calm myself. It’s just the stress, I tell myself. That’s okay. The weekend will be here soon, and hopefully I can relax a little before needing to revisit the impossible situation that I’ve found myself in. When I think I’m ready to get back at the task at hand without weird bikers clouding my otherwise sound judgement, I pick my pen back up.
Knock, knock, knock!
There’s a rapping at my door, and I sigh.
“Come in!”
I think that perhaps it’s going to be Principal Walters. He always somehow manages to come in at the worst of times to bug me (despite hating when I take the time to bug him over things that actually matter.) Instead, the door opens and it’s not Principal Walters here to bug me or harass me, but a delivery guy.
“Ah, are you Lena?” He glances at a pad in his hand. “Lena Hedlund?”
I look behind him, seeing a ton of boxes on a rolling cart.
“Um … Yes? Yes, I’m Lena Hedlund.” I get up and go over to him, seeing a larger selection of boxes sitting outside my door, as well. “How can I help you?”
“I’ve got your delivery here.” He holds out the pad for me to sign. “Just need an autograph and you’ll be good to go.”
I’m … so confused. I didn’t order anything, especially nothing of this magnitude!
“Can you tell me what all this is?” I ask him. Maybe it’s some sort of scholastic packages that I ordered and forgot about in all the hectic comings and goings of the school year?
T
he guy shrugs.
“I just deliver things, ma’am. Go ahead and sign.”
I can tell that he’s just wanting to get on out of here, and I don’t really feel like keeping him longer than he’s willing to be here—I’m more curious about what’s been delivered to me. So I sign for these mystery boxes, much to the man’s delight. He takes his pad, unloads the rest of the boxes from the rolling cart, and makes his way down the hall. I watch him until he rounds a corner, and then I start bringing the boxes in one by one.
