Heart Like Mine (Reapers MC: Conroe Chapter, #3)

by Hunter, Bijou

  For now, that’s all I need. We’re still strangers, but I already know today is the start of something important.

  THE DOORMAT

  Dinner is a blur. I think I officially check out after meeting Maddy. The day’s been too long, I feel like crap, and I’m worried about tomorrow.

  There are breaks in my panic and fear. Like when Rebel laughs at something the girls say or Jack’s hand grazes mine.

  I want to focus on my sudden blessings. But then I start worrying if the SUV is safe. Rebel’s toys are in there along with his baby pictures.

  I know I should focus on what’s happening around me, but I’ve survived by worrying about tomorrow and the next day. Yes, Patrick didn’t hit me today, but he might wake up angry tomorrow. What do I say if his mother shows up unannounced? Will Patrick freak out if Sean arrives and finds the floors aren’t swept?

  I always worried because the bad stuff was worse when I wasn’t ready for it. Like when the baby died. I hadn’t even considered that happening. As soon as I felt him kicking, I thought my son would be safe. The earlier miscarriages were forgotten. My baby woke me every day with a little tap dance on my bladder. He would be fine, just like Rebel.

  I wasn’t ready for Patrick that day, and my son died. Now I have to always be prepared.

  Everything is too much at dinner. There are so many faces, and I start forgetting names. The girls look too much alike. I can’t remember where the bathroom is. The more flustered I get, the more terrified I am of the punishment for being wrong.

  I eventually wander down a hallway, ending up in the backyard while looking for the bathroom. I spot two dogs in the yard looking back at me. I don’t know what kind they are, but one of them barks passively.

  Turning to go back inside, I find Jack standing at the doorway. He stares in his intense way, making me feel small and unworthy.

  “My sister’s a bad cook,” he says when I start crying.

  “I don’t know where the bathroom is.”

  Choking on my tears, I sound like a stupid kid, but I’m spiraling toward a panic attack. The last time I had one, Patrick went ballistic, and Rebel’s arm got broken. That’s what happens when I lose control.

  Jack isn’t Patrick, but he’s even bigger and stronger, and I don’t know him. He could hurt me, kill me. Who would notice? No one cares about me. I don’t know if they ever have. I’m all alone.

  Jack wraps me in his arms, and I inhale his clean scent. My panic subsides enough to remember Rebel. Yes, my boy loves me. I’m not alone.

  Tears stopping, I listen to Jack’s heart beating—thump, thump, thump. Steady, if not a little too fast. I realize he’s agitated. Jack pretends to be calm, but he just doesn’t want to scare me.

  He is not Patrick. I’m safe. Rebel is happy. I can breathe again. I feel the baby moving inside me, and I pretend that means it’ll be born safe. I need the lies, just like Jack needs to pretend he’s calm.

  I hear him speaking to me, but I don’t understand. I’m calmer now, but the fatigue is too much. I normally take an afternoon nap while Rebel reads one of the three comic books he brought when we ran. But today there was no nap, and I can’t think straight.

  Why don’t I let Jack be in charge? Sure, I don’t know him, and he doesn’t know me. Jack wants to protect me, though. Even if it’s just to protect his baby, he’ll handle things. I can stop planning for one day without worrying about the baby dying.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell Jack when I leave the bathroom and find him leaning against the wall in the hallway.

  “I want to say something really fucking smart and comforting to make you see that you’re safe here. But I can’t think of anything, so I’m just going to say what I just said.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.”

  Jack kneels down, immediately less intimidating when he isn’t looming over me. “Bad shit happened to you. Bad people fucked you over. I’m not going to pretend I’m a good guy because I’m really not, Georgia. I love my family, and I goof around with the kids, but I’m a bad guy. I do bad things, but I will never do them to you.”

  “I know,” I lie.

  Jack gives me a little smile. “I know you don’t know. We only really met today, and none of our conversations have been normal. I don’t know anything about you, and you don’t know shit about me except that I have a bitchy sister and a sweet mom.”

  “Your mom is sweet.”

  “The people you’re running from are scary, but you see that I am too, right?”

  I don’t know if I should say yes. He acts like he wants me to agree he’s scary, but what if it’s a trick and it’ll hurt his feelings if I say yes?

  Jack nods his head, so I do the same. He smiles at my reaction.

  “Are you done eating?”

  “I don’t feel well,” I blurt out.

  Smile gone, he looks ready to grab me and run. I have no clue where he’d go.

  “Like the baby or your head where that cunt hit you?”

  His anger makes me flinch, and I step back. Switching gears again, Jack strokes my belly while he holds my gaze.

  “Speak to me,” he whispers.

  I don’t know why his words make me laugh, but I get the worst giggles. Looking confused now, he stands up and glances back at the dining room for help.

  “I’m just tired,” I say once I giggle myself out.

  “You can lie down.”

  “But Rebel isn’t ready for bed.”

  “We’ll watch him.” When I hesitate, Jack leans down until our lips are inches apart. “You said my mom was sweet. She’ll make sure Rebel is okay.”

  Looking around nervously, I don’t answer.

  “Let me show you how to get to the guest room.”

  “I don’t know,” I babble as he wraps a strong arm around my shoulders.

  “Rebel wants to finish watching that movie with the girls. If you can’t sleep, come hang out with us grownups. If you can sleep, then enjoy the fact that Rebel will barely notice you’re gone since he’ll be so busy becoming the latest dork disciple.”

  I consider asking about that dork thing, but Jack’s arm around me is both inviting and dominating. There’s no getting away from him, and soon I’m crawling into what must be the softest bed I’ve ever enjoyed.

  When Jack tucks me in and kisses my forehead, his lips linger. I worry he might kiss me. I’m not sure how to handle his affection. Ripping off his clothes feels like a mistake, but he’s too gorgeous to avoid touching.

  “I want to kiss you,” he says, standing up and shaking out his shoulders. “But I'm patient.”

  “I'm patient too.”

  “What if you weren’t?” he asks, flashing a devilish grin.

  “Super X-rated stuff would occur.”

  When Jack chuckles, I instantly forget I look like crap. We’re suddenly back in the overheated honkytonk, surrounded by strangers, yet only able to see each other. I’d never felt so wild and powerful, which was why I was so certain the attraction and pleasure were only from the alcohol.

  But now I’m completely sober while struck by the same desperate need for this man.

  I relax in the bed and let myself trust Jack will protect Rebel, the baby, and me. This house exists in another universe where Patrick is a lifetime away, and the Hegseth family doesn’t exist.

  Sharing Jack’s smile, I don’t even realize I’ve closed my eyes until hours later when the sun is gone, and Rebel crawls into bed next to me. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I listen to him whisper about how much fun he had. Then I cover us with the soft quilt and return to a dreamless sleep.

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THEY GET DOWN TO THE NITTY GRITTY

  THE HOTHEAD

  After the kids fall asleep, Mom goes home, and Phoebe chills with a book, Scarlet and I hang out in my 700-square-foot RV. Soon, she’s provided me with all the info Georgia shared with her.

  “That’s it?” I complain while sitting across from her in the dinette.

  “I didn�
�t have the heart to interrogate her while she was wearing that look on her face.”

  “What look?”

  “The ‘I’m one harsh word away from crying’ look.”

  Sagging against the wall, I nod. “Yeah. I wanted to ask her a million questions, but she looked at me as if I was terrifying.”

  “Which is weird since you’re such a giant pussy.”

  “That must be why you like me so much.”

  “Pa-dum-pum,” Scarlet mocks while pretending to hit the drum cymbal.

  “I texted Bubba earlier to find out about the cop at the gas station. He said he’ll have all the info tomorrow at the meeting.”

  “Did he sound scared?”

  “It was a text.”

  “Did he misspell words in a way that implied he might be shaking badly?” my sister teases.

  “I’m about to shove your head under my ass and release all the stinky goodness from the stew you made tonight.”

  “Georgia isn’t right for you.”

  “What the fuck?” I grumble, thinking she’s messing with me.

  “She’s so broken and delicate, and you’re a big, stupid ape. I mean, I love you, Jack. You’re my favorite man in the entire world, but you are not built to care for a woman like her.”

  Shaking my head, I refuse to accept what Scarlet’s saying. “You’re basing that opinion off the fact that I’ve never had to care for a woman like Georgia. I’ll prove I’m plenty fucking capable.”

  “Or you could just be a friend to her. If the kid is yours, you’ll help her raise it. Then fall in love with a woman capable of standing up to you.”

  “Georgia can stand up to me fine.”

  “You’re lying. It’s obvious. Stop doing that.”

  Exhaling loudly, I ball up a napkin and throw it at her. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to kick her ass as much as I do right now. Fuck! Scarlet knows me too well. If she thinks I’ll screw things up with Georgia, how can I pretend she might not have a point?

  “Tomorrow, you do your manly stuff,” she says, standing up. “And I’ll do my alpha mama stuff. Then we’ll trade notes and figure out what happens next.”

  “I’m killing that asshole.”

  “I know. You’re very scary,” she says, patting my cheek before walking to the door. “Killing that guy is the easy part, Jack. Just don’t forget that Georgia is twenty-four years old and has a nine-year-old son. You do the math. She’s been under the thumb of a violent man since she was still a kid. Now she’s free, so maybe the last thing she needs is another man telling her what to do.”

  “I’m not bossy.”

  Scarlet laughs at my bullshit as she leaves the RV. I step outside to keep an eye on her while my sister enjoys an escort by her Australian shepherds, Dali and Warhol. She arrives at her side door and waves at me.

  Then I’m alone for the evening with only my grumpiness and a half-erect dick. The damn thing’s been in a state of excitement since I found Georgia in the kitchen. It fondly remembers the drunken quickie with the sad-eyed beauty.

  But all my dick gets tonight is my hand. Though it’s the same hand that touched her today, making this lonely night better than the last hundred.

  Climbing into bed around ten, I’m not particularly tired. My mind replays everything from today until I savor the look on Georgia’s face when she dozed off. Even with a bruised eye, she was sexier than any woman I’ve ever met.

  Finally, I choose to sleep. Even as a kid, if I closed my eyes and decided to sleep, my body obeyed. It’s one of my many skills.

  I order myself to sleep early to ensure I’ll be full of fucking energy tomorrow.

  Georgia and Rebel aren’t awake when I get up. They’re still asleep when I’m ready to meet the guys at our clubhouse, Johansson’s Pub. Feeling paranoid, I peek into their room.

  With them covered in blankets, I can only spot the tops of their heads. Still, they seem comfortable and safe. I don’t know how long they’ll remain asleep once the twins wake up and begin their marching band routine.

  Normally, my days are spent landscaping and maintaining yards. On occasion, I work construction for the family business. Today, though, I meet the rest of the Reapers at our clubhouse.

  Four Harleys are already parked in the otherwise empty lot. We wait for my uncle Jace who’s always late and usually blames my aunt Sawyer. She uses him as an excuse for crap too. Married people are always playing their con jobs.

  I walk inside to find my cousins, Bubba and Butch, sitting at a table with a laptop. Usually, they whip out that shit when sections of Conroe need extra attention.

  The dark-haired brothers are two years apart and look a lot alike. Bubba is our president while Butch is an enforcer.

  Head shaven and beard overgrown, Roid Ron sits nearby, drinking coffee and snarling at the floor. Formerly a member of the Ellsberg chapter of the Reapers, the steroid-loving junkie got on the wrong side of too many club brothers until it was either kill or transfer him.

  On the other side of Ron is one of our new members. Dickie is my age, but the blond finds everything fucking hilarious. He’s not bright, but then again, neither is my father and he’s the VP in Ellsberg. Brains are overrated in a motorcycle club. The only one that needs to know anything is the president and possibly the treasurer. Otherwise, scary, loyal, and dumb works just fine.

  I take a spot away from the others and wait for Jace to arrive. My uncle’s dark, shoulder-length hair is tied back in a ponytail, and he’s wearing his vest outside his sweat jacket. I sense he’s been awake for less than a half hour.

  Bubba hits a button on the laptop to project light on the wall. Butch mumbles something to his brother, and Roid Ron loses his patience.

  “What the fuck happened yesterday at the Go-Stop?”

  “This woman,” Bubba says, clicking a button on his tablet, “is Jack’s possible baby mama.”

  “Nice,” Dickie murmurs and gives me an approving head nod when he sees Georgia’s driver’s license picture.

  Rather than enjoy the sight of her face, I growl at the freckled dipshit, “I’m going to punch you in the head.”

  “Worth it.”

  Bubba knows not to wait for us to shut up. He just starts talking over our bickering.

  “She lived in a town called Milkweed, Kentucky with her kid and a man named Patrick Hegseth. As far as we can tell, there is no record of their marriage. We can assume their marriage was common law.”

  “I still don’t understand what’s going on,” Ron mutters.

  Bubba hits another button, so Patrick’s ID joins Georgia’s. Cold blue eyes, thinning hairline, smug expression—the man is a turd undeserving of such a fine woman. When I realize Patrick’s forty and do the math on when he met her, I’m more than ready to shoot him in his bland fucking face.

  Then I stop raging for long enough to take notice of Georgia’s stats. Her birthday just passed. Her middle name is Alice. I notice her hair’s blonde in the picture, meaning it was issued while she was on the run despite her using her Milkweed address.

  “Hegseth is currently at the end of a year-long stint in prison for assaulting a cop and pulling a gun in a bar fight. The guy could have done a ten-year stretch with all the shit he pulled that night, but the Louisville prosecutor gave him a sweetheart deal. We can assume the power people in Milkweed helped arrange that.”

  “If he’s in prison, who the fuck were the assholes from yesterday?” Ron demands, reminding me why I don’t go to the movies with him. The fucker’s attention span is shorter than my nephews’.

  “One of the women at the Go-Stop was Ainsley Hegseth, wife of this fucker right here,” Bubba says before a shot of another douchebag appears on the screen. This guy has the same icy blue eyes. “Sean is Patrick’s younger brother. The piece of shit showed up in his cruiser and tried to use his badge to push around our people.”

  “And Ainsley’s the one who pissed herself, right?” Dickie asks, laughing. “Those Rossiya girls love their fucking t
asers.”

  Bubba struggles not to smile at the man’s giggles. Getting himself under control, he continues, “We don’t have any info on the woman with Ainsley. She gave our cops the run-around until Sean showed up, and the women took off. This guy is a fucking piece of work,” Bubba grumbles, scowling hard at the image projected on the wall.

  Butch grunts something that I can’t hear and Bubba nods. Finally, they stop whispering sweet nothings to each other and remember the rest of us exist.

  “The fucker claimed Georgia abducted the kid from his rightful guardian. When I asked to see the court order, the asshole changed tactics. We can assume there’s nothing from a court regarding the kid.”

  “If they’re sovereign citizens,” I mutter, glaring at the men’s images on the wall, “they won’t use the court to handle custody issues.”

  “No, so Sean then claimed he wanted to press charges against the woman who tasered his wife. I pointed out how his wife wasn’t there, and we had witnesses that said she attacked a pregnant woman and a child. If she wanted to press charges, she’d end up in jail too. Oh, boy, the fucker hated that shit.”

  “Milkweed is where exactly?” Ron asks, completely unable to stay focused.

  “Hour or so from here.”

  “And how did they find Georgia?” I ask.

  “Seems they had feelers in this area,” Bubba explains. “Scarlet said Georgia was spotted by someone when she was working at the Beetle Bug in Barrymore. She quit and moved out of her rental, but they likely figured she didn’t go far.”

  Bubba pauses to wait for me to stop bitching under my breath. When I shut up, he continues, “They had people asking around, playing up how the child was taken from his father, and the mom was a junkie. One of the clerks at the Go-Stop contacted Ainsley to say she saw Georgia and the kid. The Milkweed assholes were hanging around, hoping to grab them if they returned.”

  “This fucking clerk didn’t think to mention that to anyone around here?” Butch growls.

  Bubba shrugs. “Let’s say she’s seen the error of her ways.”