Plain Jane and the Bad Boy (Plain Jane Series)

by Tmonique Stephens

  Liam ignored the “your woman” comment and let it slide, not because he didn’t want to address it. Just not yet. Admitting she was his put a finality on the situation he wasn’t ready for. “You know she came from Lazarus House,” he said instead of answering the baby daddy question.

  “Okay, fine. You don’t know where the daddy is, which is problematic, even if you don’t want to admit it. But, do you know who the daddy is? You should at least have a name and a face so if the fucker shows up you can carve a few pounds off him.”

  Liam hated when Mack made sense. Regardless, whoever the daddy was had to wait. Mack popped a good one his shoulder. The old guy could still throw a punch when he wanted to.

  “I mean, you get involved with a single mom, make sure she’s worth it.”

  Liam heard the unspoken question. Was Sabrina worth it? His gut said yes. Something about her drew her to him. All his protective instincts rushed to the surface, instincts he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He wanted her safe, and well. He worried about her in a way he hadn’t worried about anyone since the service. She felt like an obligation, one he wanted.

  Hell, it wasn’t just protective instincts. The taste of her lingered and he fucking liked it. He also liked the fire in her eyes rather than the fear he saw swimming in the depths the first time they’d met. Beneath her armor and all she endured, the real Sabrina waited, and he couldn’t wait to meet her. She would shake his foundation.

  Mack waited for an answer to his worth it question. He would keep waiting.

  “Plus, she really ain’t your type,” Mack tacked on.

  “Since when do I have a type?” He loved women, all colors, all races. He couldn’t say he had a preference.

  Mack shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “You know. You usually date stunners and Sabrina’s…kinda average. Kinda regular,” he said as if it were a condition to be pitied.

  Regular. Sabrina wasn’t regular. Not to him. She had a beauty not easily defined in a mirror. It wasn’t something you’d find on the cover of a magazine and it wasn’t something that time would ravage. She, all of her, the entirety of her being was beautiful. Not everyone could see that, and that was fine with him.

  “She’s not regular to me,” he said in a tone that left no room for discussion because the discussion was over.

  “Roger that,” Mack said, understanding he was never to go there again.

  “You know anything about Razor visiting the office looking for me?” Liam deflected to the real issue.

  Mack’s expression went from carefully neutral to wary and focused. “Nah, man. What he want?”

  “Didn’t say. But I’m gonna find out.” He locked up the house and headed for his truck.

  “You can’t go to the club,” Mack shouted.

  Liam ignored him and kept walking.

  “Damn it!” Mack hopped on his bike.

  “Where are you going?” Liam asked before Mack kick-started the Harley.

  “You going to the club, I’m going to the club.”

  The roar of Mack’s engine drowned out Liam telling him to stay out of it. He should’ve saved the words. Mack never stayed out of anything. He lost Mack the second the Harley pulled away from the house. Didn’t matter. He could warn the club about Razor, if he wanted. You don’t show up at a man’s workplace and not get a return visit. He was letting Mayhem know about this turn of events as a curtesy. He could take care of his own.

  It didn’t take long for Liam to make a right into the club parking lot and coast down the packed lanes. There wasn’t an open spot to be had. Many two, even three bikes jammed into a spot. Mayhem didn’t have that many members. Then he noticed the out-of-state license plates. The Georgia chapter of Mayhem MC had come to town. Not surprising when the president of a chapter had been shot in an ambush. Clubs took that shit seriously.

  Liam flexed his shoulders aware of the tattoo on his back. Not for the first time since the shooting. He got the tat before he took the oath, something that was against the rules. It was supposed to be a surprise, a surprise his father had secretly given his blessing to because Mack had taken him to the shop where all the members got their ink.

  Then he’d seen that dead body, not his first—that happened at seven—and definitely not his last. But he’d seen what his father had done to it, what the club had participated in. It was too much to process, especially when he knew there was another life out there, a life he had with his uncle and aunt. He didn’t have to be the man his father was. He had a choice.

  In not so many words, he grabbed his dick, told Finlay what he could do with it, and ran. For two days. He wasn’t stupid, he knew his father let him go, rather than hunt him down. So many things he couldn’t reconcile. Not his father, not the club, not the moral compass making itself known, and not his cowardice at running.

  And that’s when he saw the recruitment station. Fucking thing was a beacon in the night. He signed up as a grunt, a billet with plenty of openings. Desperate for recruits, they didn’t care about the tattoo. Even gave him a bonus for joining the infantry. Funny how the thing he ran from, he became, sanctioned by the government. What he saw in the warehouse on the docks paled in comparison to what he saw as a soldier on foreign soil in a hostile country.

  What would’ve happened if he hadn’t joined the Army? If he had stayed in the club with his father, been the member and man Finlay wanted him to be? Who would Liam Callahan be? Unrecognizable, or some shadowed version of the man he was today?

  That question would never be answered, and Liam didn’t want to know. He was who he was. History couldn’t rewrite itself and if it could, he wanted no part of it. He liked who he’d become. End of story. Period.

  A meeting of this size between two chapters meant one thing—a war council. Mayhem had discovered who’d taken potshots at them, and it wasn’t some random “wrong place at the right time” bullshit. Someone had beef with the club, now they had beef with all the clubs, thirteen chapters and growing.

  Common sense told him his conversation with Finlay could wait. Liam never suffered from common sense.

  He parked on the grass next to a metal dumpster. Music leaked from inside the building, heavy metal, Liam guessed by the drive bass. Wise plan to move the club to the industrial side of town. One of those artisanal beer companies took up space a block away. An industrial linen and uniform company took up space across the street. A school bus company occupied the other side of the club. A few bars littered the area, catering to workers. Everyone minded their own damn business and the police, well they drove by now and then. His father was anything but a fool. No one got into the club who didn’t belong there or wasn’t invited.

  Liam approached the door and the four guys stationed outside, two of which were unknown to him. The other two, “Kit, Davy.” He added a head nod, a fist bump, and he was in.

  “Who the fuck was that?” A Georgia member questioned before the door closed behind Liam. No leather cut on his back. Just a dirty blue, paint speckled T-shirt, he drew a lot of attention. Mel pointed a finger at him. Liam returned the gesture.

  He weaved through the bar amidst murmured words, head nods, and questionable stares, stopping when he hit the hallway and a man blocked his path. Barrel chested, beer belly, three-inch black beard, big man. Had to be a six five. He towered over Liam. The patch on the left read LIEUTENANT GEORGIA CHAPTER. Further down the hallway, more men guarded the doors to Church.

  The bar quieted, even the decibels on Korn’s “Freak On a Leash” lowered.

  Big Man’s lip curled. “You lost?”

  “No more than you.”

  “Who the fuck let you in, no cut wearing motherfucker?” Big Man snarled.

  “I’m here to see Snoop.”

  Big man’s gaze scanned Liam like he was roadkill left in the middle of the road. “He know a piece of shit like you?”

  “A bit better than he knows a POS like you.”

  Big man’s lips peeled back off a set of yellow teeth. “Anyo
ne wanna claim this mutt before I dog drag his ass outta here?”

  Liam took a step. Behind him, chairs scraped along the wooden floors. He spared a moment to wonder if he was about to be the catalyst for a brawl. Been a while since Liam had a reason to break some bones—not his. He sized up his opponent. Big man was more fat than muscle. He lumbered, plus he favored his right knee. A kick to the patella would bring Big Man down. A punch to the throat would finish him. Liam’s hands curled into fists.

  “Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! He’s mine.” Mack came running from the back hallway. Sometime between the flip house and the MC club, not only did he beat Liam here—not a surprise with him on his bike—he’d dragged on his cut. He hustled over and wedged himself between Liam and Big Man. “I spoke to the prez and he wants to see him.”

  “Why the hell is he here and not at home?” he barked at Mack.

  “This is his home.” Mack tried to hustle Liam around Big Man.

  Liam refused to budge. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Not now, man,” Mack whispered.

  “Who dat?” “Who the fuck is he?” Circled the room along with the answer. “Prez’s son.” Liam heard the questions as he walked past the guarded Church door and turned right to the bedrooms in the rear hallway. The door to his father’s bedroom was in front of him. Had he moved into the clubhouse before the shooting? Was this now his permanent home? And if so, how long had he been here? All this Liam should have known.

  Mack knocked on the door and didn’t wait for a reply. Sitting up in bed, seemingly alert and oriented, Liam met the surprise in Finlay’s eyes with the calm assurance his father wasn’t at death’s door. He’d aged in the few days since the shooting. Grayer and thinner, his sallow skin hung on his frame like a loose coat ready to be sloughed off and cast aside for summer. The hand reaching for his glasses trembled and didn’t stop even when the glasses were perched on his nose. Black wife beater and sweat pants had seen better days, but it was nicer than a hospital gown with his ass out.

  Now that he could see, Finlay’s gaze narrowed on his only child. Like the little boy he no longer was, Liam waited for his father to say something, some bit of approval, some nugget of joy at seeing him.

  And got nada.

  In a thin reedy voice, Finlay said, “What are you doing here?”

  I should blow out of the joint. Go back to my side of town. “You left the hospital on your own. You should’ve stayed.”

  “’Cause I look like shite?”

  “You look like shit.” Liam folded his arms across his chest. “This is home now?”

  “Always was, always will be. Mayhem ’til I die.” Finlay raised his chin defiantly.

  Was there anything more pathetic than an ancient biker holding on by his fingertips to a past better left buried. Liam was tempted to point out only as long as Finlay could ride, but he wasn’t here to be an asshole. He’d leave that for another day. “Razor showed up at my office. You know anything about that?”

  Squinty eyed, Finlay frowned. “No.”

  Even if he had known, Finlay wouldn’t have admitted it. Not to him. “You know what’s going on out there?” Liam jerked his head toward the closed door.

  “The party? We’re welcomin’ Georgia chapter. Tomorrow we hae Church and plan retribution. The usual. Why? Yae think they’re too rowdy? Never were yae rowdy in the Army?” Finlay spat the last word like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

  Rowdy was scooping what was left of a fellow soldier after an IED took out the truck in front of him. Rowdy was a firefight when you’re pinned down on a mountain range during a blizzard with no air support. Rowdy was thinking you’re gonna die and without anything to show for it. No legacy. No one to mourn you except a father that despises your choice to serve your country instead of him. “Snoop has Church going on now. Cell phones in a dish on the bar, soldiers guarding the double doors.”

  That got Finlay sitting up straight like someone had goosed his ass. “What yae say?” His mouth pinched like he’d sucked on a lemon,

  Smug grin, Liam nodded. “Your golden boy stepping on your toes, Prez. He got dirt on your grave and you still breathing.” Holding Church without the prez presiding, that shit was tantamount to a coup.

  Finlay scooted to the edge of the bed. “Hold up. Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Liam said.

  “Where the fuck do yae think,” Finlay growled. “Yae come in here, get me riled up an’ think I ain’t gonna do shite? Help me into the wheelchair or there’s the door.”

  Liam didn’t move. He let Finlay sweat it out wondering what he would do. The old bastard deserved it.

  “Well,” Finlay snarled when he couldn’t take anymore.

  “Wondering what would be more entertaining, you fallin’ yae face or bleedin’ out ’cause yae popped a stitch.” Liam mocked him. While Finlay sputtered in outrage, Liam walked over to the bed and muscled his father into a nearby wheelchair, resenting he was the one here, not all the patched members on the other side of the door, drinking and partying.

  Why the fuck was he here again? Oh, yeah. Razor.

  Liam spun the wheelchair around and dropped to his haunches in front of Finlay. He needed to eyeball his father for this conversation. “Razor stopped by my office for a visit.”

  Finlay reeled back. “Razor, yae say?”

  Liam nodded once. “I’ll ask you again, you know anything about it?” Finlay shook his head. Like Liam believed him. Fine, he’d handle Razor himself.

  Finlay snagged Liam’s arm. “Don’t get any ideas. You’re not a part of this. I’ll handle Razor and the Lizards. Take your ass back to your side of town and stay there.”

  Normally, he wouldn’t disagree, but more than his life was on the line. A lot more. Carefully, he pried Finlay’s fingers off his arm. “Get one thing straight, old man. I’m wheeling you into Church and I’m staying. You think about shutting me out, I’ll find a set of stairs to roll your arse down. We understand each other?”

  Gimlet eyed, Finlay stared Liam down. Father and son, toe-to-toe, eye to eye, neither one flinching. A sharp nod and Finlay cranked his head around. Not before Liam caught a whisper of a grin on his mouth.

  Old bastard. He stifled his own grin and rose. Finlay reached for his cut laying on the end of the bed. Liam waited until he’d shrugged it on, not offering to help. A man had to put his own cut on his body. Only after Finlay had the leather righted with the president patch over his heart did Liam grip the handles and push Finlay to the door. “You going to rip some asses or you going to retire?” One purpose, he poked the bear.

  Finlay snorted. “Retire, huh? I’ll show yae retire. Yae wheel me inside of Church and stay behind me, but not too close. I need room to move.”

  That tone in his father’s voice, Liam had heard it once before, and chuckled. Who needed a war council when Finlay was an army of one? And the night was still young. “Room to move, huh.” Liam was so glad he’d made the trip. This shit show was gonna be fun.

  Chapter Sixteen

  They made it out of the room and down the hallway without much of a fuss. That ended when they came to the Church’s double doors. Two men blocked it. One from each club. “Get out of my goddamn way,” Finlay shouted, drawing the attention of every single person.

  The Georgia member hesitated. The man wearing the Mayhem patch didn’t. He pushed his brother from another state out of the way and opened the door for his president to roll on through. Liam wasn’t surprised. One thing about his father, he demanded loyalty, the founding principle of his life. Everything else came second.

  “I told you no damn interrupt—” Snoop’s snarled response at the doors opening died on a withered choke at the sight of Finlay wheeling himself inside. It had to have taken what energy his father had, but Liam offered no help. Bad enough he was in the wheelchair, as stupid as it was, to need more assistance would label him weak. Those present would start wondering about his fitness to lead. Which, to be fair, the topic had to be already on the
ir minds. Finlay wasn’t young, his best decades were behind him. Yeah, he may have one foot in the grave, but all he needed was one foot to kick your ass.

  Finlay wheeled the chair around the long wooden table, taking his time to eyeball each man, none of it a greeting. Until he reached Snoop. Sitting in his chair. At the head of the table. The shock on Snoop’s face. Priceless. Liam salivated for more. “Get your ass up,” Finlay ordered. “And take the chair with yae, I brought me own.”

  Snoop scooted back, the chair scraping the wooden floor. “Gentlemen, the president of the Destin chapter of the Mayhem MC.” He announced Finlay as if they didn’t know who the hell he was. Idiot.

  “I donna need no damn introduction.” Finlay wheeled his crotchety ass up to the table. He picked up the gavel, his gavel, and twirled it in the palm of his hand, his shrewd gaze circling the room. “Maybe I do need to introduce myself since yae all seem to have forgotten.” He slammed the gavel down on the table as if bringing the room to order. “I’m the fuckin’ president of this damn chapter! There is no meetin’ without me!” His brogue thickening with each word.

  “Now, Finlay—” The president of the Georgia chapter rose to his feet, and Finlay shut him down.

  “Don’t yae Finlay me, Pauly. How would yae feel ifne they did it to yae? And in yae own house, at that, had a meetin’ without yae. As if the dirt was already on yae grave.”

  Pauly sat his ass down.

  “Any of yae intending tae drop the first shovel full on me coffin, fellas? Step up, no need tae hide the shovel up yae asses. Lemme know so I can pick out me plot ahead a time. Give a fella a running start. The same start I’ll give yae.” Finlay pulled a forty-five out of the holster strapped to the underside of the table.

  Nobody moved, including Liam standing behind his father as ordered. He knew the gun was there, it wasn’t a club secret. A weapon had always been there. It was probably the only legally registered weapon in the building, moved only during times of a raid. He hadn’t expected his father to pull it out and plop the damn thing on the table. Then again, Finlay was righteously pissed. The slight his members and the sister club paid him couldn’t be ignored. Blood may have to be spilled.