by Rie Warren
“And you’re not fit to be a dad.” Winding up, I took special pleasure in crashing my huge fist against his nose.
I would’ve fucking crowed at the triumphant violence, the crunch of bones, the fountain of blood. Except this was all wrong.
I hadn’t expected any of this.
I hadn’t known about any of this.
Not about MJ, or Honoré, or Caleb . . . they were all connected to Ripper.
The Death Dealer who had a death wish for me.
Unable to break free of the deranged spiral of rage, I wound up my arm again. But Janky and Dozer grabbed hold of the cursing, shouting maniac. They began hauling him to the bikes as he continued to kick and scream.
“She ain’t never getting rid of me. She can’t. ’Cause I’ve got a kid with her, somethin’ you’ll never have!” He gloated, landing the final, most devastating blow.
Momma Joan, Honoré, and I stood there in the front yard as the three Death Dealers roared away.
I was surprised the cops hadn’t been called out, unless this kind of thing happened all the time.
It all made too much sense now. Sick sense. Why Honoré was so gun shy. Why she was particularly not peachy-fucking-keen about hooking up with another biker.
Why I’d never told her about my bad past.
Maybe I’d known.
The truth of fucking everything sank in, and I almost sank to the ground.
Chapter Twenty
HONORÉ
ANGER. SHOCK. SURPRISE. BUT not the good kind.
Those emotions held me frozen in place on my front yard in the middle of the night as Reggie and the Death Dealers climbed onto their bikes and left the scene of . . . the scene of what?
A crime?
What exactly had Reggie come here to do?
Rape me? Kill me? Kidnap Caleb?
I didn’t know. I’d likely never know.
Damn Reggie. Ripper. Whatever. One and the same, but as soon as I’d cut bait from him, I’d refused to call him by his roadname. He got off on the infamy way too much.
Saint had saved us. But come to find out, Saint wasn’t a savior at all . . .
I reeled on my feet and looked over at him. Crimson streaked across his split cheek, and his knuckles had swollen so much I doubted his rings would come off.
He looked suddenly pale in the moonlight streaking down, and he turned his head slowly. He looked at me like I was a stranger.
He was a stranger to me.
It was Momma Joan who shooed the two of us into motion. “Now that that’s done, let’s go inside. Surprised the police haven’t been called out. And Saint, sugar, I need to take a look at your face and your ribs.”
He moved haltingly, glancing back at the road continuously.
“Don’t worry about me,” he spoke woodenly.
“What about Caleb?” Worry set in for my baby boy.
He couldn’t possibly have slept through the entire commotion, and I hurried into the house. Hot on my heels, Joan draped an arm around my shoulders.
“It’s okay, honey. I checked on him before I came out.”
I shrugged her off. “I need to see him.”
I just needed to touch him, make sure he was all right.
At his door, I eased it open to peek inside. Saint was suddenly there too.
“Is he okay?” His low voice sounded stark, his expression even bleaker.
“I think so. Just go let Joan take a look at you.” Dismissing him with curt words, I slipped into Caleb’s room.
Even though I couldn’t help being brusque with Saint, tears lined my lashes. They weren’t all for Caleb who had the most inhumane excuse for a father.
The tear drops weren’t just for me either.
Something had been irrevocably broken tonight—shattered to pieces.
Sidling up to Caleb’s bed, I very gently swept a lock of his glowing white blond hair from his forehead. All he did was mumble something then flip to his side, completely conked out.
When I neared the kitchen, I heard Saint say, “I didn’t know you’re Ripper’s mom.”
“Would that I wasn’t, Saint. But then, I’d never have had all this with Honoré and Caleb.”
“You know what I did to him? Back then?”
“Yes. I didn’t realize it was you until tonight though.”
“Then how can you possibly tend to me like this?” Saint sounded disbelieving.
“Reckon I know my son well enough to know he had it coming.”
There was a beat of silence before Saint’s low voice rumbled out again. “You didn’t get hurt, did you, MJ?”
“No, sugar. The hurt Reggie caused me happened a long time ago.” She sighed. “I just wish the same could be said for Honoré.”
I slipped into the kitchen, pretending I hadn’t heard every word they’d said.
Momma Joan had Saint seated on a pulled-out chair, and she was inspecting the laceration on his cheek.
His eyes searched mine out, but I just . . . couldn’t.
I retrieved the vodka from the freezer and poured three shots, tempted to drink them all by myself.
Thunking two glasses on the table, I retreated to the other side of the too-small kitchen.
“Well, this could probably do with some stitches,” Joan pronounced.
“No need.” Saint swiftly downed his vodka.
I watched as Momma Joan then prodded his banged-up ribs. He didn’t even wince, and I could tell he still wanted me to meet his gaze.
“Don’t think anything’s broken or fractured. You’ve got a tough hide, Saint.”
“So I been told.”
She took a drink of her vodka. “If it were up to me, I’d tell you to go get checked out at the ER to be on the safe side, but I know you’re not going to. So take it easy for a few days, huh?”
He nodded.
Momma Joan handed him a bag of frozen peas for his face, which he ignored. Then she left, stopping to squeeze my shoulder on the way out.
There was a sadness in her eyes, but she wasn’t to blame. I didn’t even know who was at this point.
Dense silence settled between Saint and me until he got up slowly and approached.
He stopped a few paces away. “Did he hurt you?”
I shook my head.
“Are you sure?” He came forward, but I stepped back.
It was too much. The secrets laid bare, and I couldn’t bear it.
Everything swirled in my brain.
And churned in my gut.
“She ain’t never getting rid of me. She can’t. ’Cause I’ve got a kid with her, somethin’ you’ll never have.” Reggie’s words haunted me.
I finally met Saint’s eyes but couldn’t say anything.
“What?” Saint looked just as confused as me, and so, so beat up.
His beautiful body, his rugged face . . . all messed up. Everything was so messed up now.
“Fine. How about I start then.” He leaned down and, in a flash, his green eyes turned brittle. “That’s the asshole ex you told me about? You’re Ripper’s old lady?”
I flapped my hands in the air, his exasperation suddenly sparking mine. “What do you want me to say, Saint? Yes. Okay. I made the biggest damn mistake of my life, and now you know I’ll never be rid of him.”
He stared in disbelief. “Were you married to him?”
“No! What do you take me for?”
“Well, you had a baby with him, Honoré.”
“Thanks. I’m well aware of that.” Like I’d just said. I’d never be free of Ripper’s hold over me.
“Sorry.” He clenched his bruised fists then relaxed them again. “Sorry. I just . . . never would’ve thought. Fucking Ripper. I can’t even get that through my head.”
His apology was meant to soothe me, but I was still frustrated and frazzled.
God, the enmity between him and Reggie was horrifying to witness.
“You shouldn’t have kept taunting him like that,” I said. “You’ve just made it wor
se. You made everything so much worse.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he muttered, “Didn’t like hearing him talk about you the way he did. Or talk about Caleb like that.”
“That gives you the right to start throwing punches?”
He spun around, and it looked like he wanted to throw another punch at the wall. But he contained himself, shoulders slumping.
He pivoted back to face me, lips thinned and expression flat.
“I can’t believe you’re an ex-con.” I frowned. “You should’ve told me.”
“Back at you, baby. You could’ve told me about Caleb instead of letting me go on with no idea.”
I gaped at him, but he wasn’t done.
“Besides, you hated me from first sight just ’cause I’m a biker, Honoré. I damn well knew you wouldn’t give me a second look if you found out about this shit before you even gave me a chance.” His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking there.
“So you just what . . . you thought you’d tell me when? Never?”
We kept our voices down, but strain and pain filled our quietly uttered words and the hurtful accusations we’d never be able to take back.
Raking both hands through his hair, he finally flinched when his sore ribs pulled. “Did you know about any of that?”
“Did I know what?”
“Me and Ripper. Me and the Leather Devils.”
“How would I have known that stuff, Saint?”
“Just so fucking weird . . . our pasts with Ripper.” His head dropped back on his neck then he gazed at me from under hooded lids. “I’m not gonna lie. I was into some bad shit back then. And I paid for it.” Looking away, he locked his jaw. “I did my time.”
“I didn’t ask you to fight for me tonight,” I whispered.
“’Course not.” He chuckled without a single shred of humor. “So I should’ve let him barge into your house and smear your good name around. Hell, why not? Right? Because you had it all handled.”
I pushed at Saint who was immoveable and as angry as me. “You don’t get to save the day, goddamn you! I never wanted this!”
“You keep saying. You weren’t so fucking waspish earlier though when you had me tied up in your bed.”
“You bastard.”
“That’s right. An evil bastard jailbird biker. Just like you wanted me to be all along so you wouldn’t have to feel anything.” A hard sneer curled his beautiful lips. “You win, princess.”
“Don’t you dare call me that.”
“Don’t you dare keep judging me. This is fucking ridiculous, and you know it. It’s not my goddamn fault you were with that poisonous asshole.” He pointed a finger straight at my nose, and he seemed to loom even larger as righteous rage filled him.
I came right back at him with my own fury. “And it’s not my fault you’re an ex-con! What kind of a role model does that make you? Especially after what just happened . . . you and Reggie going at it on my front lawn!”
“Jesus Christ. You really don’t believe in second chances, do you, lady?”
My emotions unraveling, I wanted so much to forgive him. To forget about the past hour. To let him take me back to bed and pretend this never happened.
But maybe this was all both our faults because we’d been pretending in the first place.
I moved closer to him, searching out his eyes just like he’d done earlier.
His lips turned down, and I skimmed a hand up the center of his chest.
I took my hand away, tears so close to the surface my throat clogged. “There’s already too much trouble between me and Reggie. With you involved . . . my life would be impossible.” I shook my head. “Caleb’s my priority, Saint. I can’t get caught up in some biker feud between you and Reggie.”
He blew out a long ragged breath. “I get it. No matter how much it fucking hurts, I get it.” Grabbing my hands, he looked down at our joined fingers then back at me. “I didn’t go looking for him. I came back here to start a new life. I just want you to know that, Honoré.”
My eyes finally filled, because somewhere along the way Saint had gotten right inside of my heart.
“He won’t let it go though,” I said faintly.
“Probably not.” His voice was rusty.
Curling my fingers around his, I tugged until he came closer, and we hugged.
We held on like we were dying—clinging—and my tears swiped against his chest.
When he pulled back, his eyes had filled too. He swallowed thickly. He nodded, head hanging down, face all busted up and bruised because of me.
“I should go then.”
I clamped my lips together to stop their trembling then uttered, “Yes.”
Yet he didn’t move.
I couldn’t speak anymore. Couldn’t look at him anymore. A reddish-purple welt began spreading across his muscled ribs, and that was exactly how my heart felt—swollen and hurting.
“Okay.” His voice sounded like broken glass, which just added more salt to the wounds we were causing one another.
But it couldn’t be helped.
Nothing would change.
He padded silently through the house to my room. I knew he was putting on his boots and his shirt, pocketing his keys. In the weeks we’d been together, all I needed to do was close my eyes to see every one of his gestures, to feel his hands upon my body.
To see the warmth of his smile and the teasing of his grin.
Now I’d never be able to erase the empty ache of not having him anymore. I’d never forget the pain of his bleak expression—our fates finally sealed.
I was waiting in the living room when he returned, fully dressed. He looked hollow. As devastated as I felt.
Stopping in front of me, his fingers coasted across my damp cheek, and I held the rest of my tears in check until the door silently shut behind him.
Moments later, Momma Joan found me curled up on the sofa. My whole body heaved with wrenching sobs, and she wrapped herself right around me.
“What have I done?” I wailed, regretting the only decision I ever could’ve made.
“I suppose what you thought was best for Caleb and you.” Joan hushed me and rocked me like I was her own child, but I didn’t miss the sad finality in her voice.
Chapter Twenty-One
SAINT
WHEN I PULLED UP at Thunder Road, I just sat there in my car. The car that’d been filled with Honoré and her guitar and her son just hours ago. I still reeled, not just from the unexpected brawl, but all the secrets revealed, all the truths out in the open. And worst of all, from Honoré kicking me to the curb.
Now I’d never be free of Ripper.
Neither would Honoré.
Times like these I wished I still did coke. Fuck it. I leaned over and rummaged through the glovebox for an emergency stash of Marlboro Reds.
It wasn’t blow or even one of the Man Bun’s hookahs, but a few smokes would do nicely.
Then I decided I needed a drink too, an entire bottle of booze in fact.
By that time, the bar was closing down, but fuck it, I was part owner.
As soon as I walked in, Chase, Angel, and Revenge stared at me like I was the walking dead, or at least the walking wounded. Made sense. I was pretty banged up. ’Course that cunt Ripper had to use brass knuckles to pull a good punch.
Slade was absent from his bar duties, still on paternity leave or whatever. Then I remembered—oh yeah—he was out at Mamere’s because he had the woman of his dreams and a baby too.
I had fucking jack-all.
“What in the hell happened to you between Mamere’s and now?” Angel’s brows cranked low as he slapped a damp bar towel down onto the table he’d been cleaning.
I sank into a chair. “Give me a drink. Give me all the drinks.”
Chase didn’t ask questions. Good probie. He actually pulled out one of Slade’s special bottles of whiskey and curled his fingers around four tumblers.
I could probably drain them all in one go.
He set t
he supplies on the table in front of me, and I lit up a Red and poured a healthy dose of the good stuff.
All three of them turned out chairs and poured their own drinks then Revenge said, “Wasn’t that couillon Ripper again, was it?”
Angel looked about ready to get his shotgun out. “Jesus motherfucking Christ. If the Death Dealers still got a hard-on for you—”
Cutting him off, I pulled up the side of my T-shirt to show my fucked ribs. “Honoré.”
Chase openly stared. “That sweet little woman beat the shit out of you?”
If only.
I could handle her claws and most anything else she could throw at me, including being tied to her bed.
I snorted. If only indeed.
After inhaling more smoke and drinking more whiskey, I planted my elbows on the table. “Ripper is Honoré’s ex. Her baby daddy. He’s MJ’s son in fact.”
“Merde.” Angel tossed his drink back.
Revenge stopped with his glass halfway to his mouth. “You’re shittin’ me.”
“Ripper? The coked-up fuck you knocked out?” Chase stared like I had two heads.
“The one that got him thrown in lockup,” Revenge muttered.
If I’d been shocked by all the revelations, they looked stunned.
For once, everyone was silent.
Silent as death.
I poured another drink and downed it.
I lit another cig and smoked it right down into my lungs.
Didn’t matter that every time I breathed my ribs screamed in pain.
My stupid heart was screaming in pain too, and the only thing to do about it was get blind drunk.
“It’s fucked.” I laid my head in my hands. “We’re done.”
“What the hell happened?”
I looked up to see Angel helping himself to my smokes with questions written all over his face.
“Didn’t you quit?” I asked. “On account of Mercy and being a married man and turning over a new leaf?”
“Fuck off. I’m still the prez, and this constitutes an emergency.” He lit up, then lit into me. “Time to tell all.”
So I filled them in. All about Ripper, and how he loose-lipped my ex-con status and the fact I’d stabbed him to both MJ and Honoré. How he’d turned up at her house sounding like Satan’s own disciple because, I didn’t know, but it seemed like there was something going on with their custody over Caleb.
