Scotch: Unraveled (Brimstone Lords MC Book 4)

by Sarah Zolton Arthur

“Noooo.” She draws the word out incredulously as she shakes her head. Then, bestowed with powers the moment sperm met egg, to perfect that mom-guilt look that all moms get, she throws a healthy dose of it—the mom guilt—in my direction. And she’s not even my mom, but resist as I might, part of me finds it difficult to deny her an explanation. “No one turns ashy white simply from seeing an ex. Spill, sister.”

  I lean deep in her space, pressing the cart into my stomach to beg. I’m not above begging. I’ll do almost anything not to have to talk about him with them. Only Brighton knows the whole story. “Please, guys, we’re in a liquor store.” My stomach ties itself in knots making me regret this evenings food choice and I become a stupid, teary-eyed mess. “Can’t what I’ve told you be enough?”

  “No way,” Caitlin says. “The very fact that you’re crying in a liquor store after seeing your long-lost ex proves it’s not enough. Nothing will ever be resolved if you don’t talk about it. Trust me, I’ll tell you Duke and my story sometime.”

  “Mine and Beau’s too,” Elise cuts in.

  “Trust me when I tell you there’s nothing to be resolved. Relationships end all the time. It is what it is.”

  This time it’s Caitlin to mete out the mom guilt, raising her eyebrow at me, no words necessary to get me to crack.

  “Fine,” I say on a defeated sigh. “But then I’m leaving.” I clear my throat before continuing. “He asked me to move in with him. I mistakenly thought we were in it for the long haul. I’d been saving money to go to college and when I got accepted to Northern Kentucky, I asked Rory to go with me. He refused, said he wasn’t about that life. It was too domestic. He just wanted to have fun. And that’s why he wanted me to stay with him, so we could continue to have fun.” It took a second for me to rid my mind of that last conversation with Rory after admitting my stupidity. Then I rushed to finish. “I was thinking marriage and family while he was thinking orgies.”

  No, I don’t actually think he wanted orgies, but I’ve made my point—if the way Elise sucks in a sharp breath means anything.

  Caitlin reaches over her cart to grab my hand resting on the cart handlebar giving it a gentle squeeze. Her comforting touch, her earnest ‘I’m sad for you’ eyes, honestly make me tear up yet again. And I take off without even saying goodbye so they don’t see.

  “He’s a good guy,” Elise calls after me. “You should really get to know him again. I think you’ll be surprised.”

  The cashier rings up my purchases and I pay for them, getting out before Caitlin or Elise can jump me in the parking lot or something. I don’t trust those women now. One doesn’t corner an innocent person in a liquor store in polite society. That’s the rub thought, isn’t it? They don’t live in polite society. They’re Lords old ladies through and through despite their outward appearances. I mean, how dare they look professional and nonthreatening when they’re anything but? What gives them the right to come in to the daycare with their adorable kids and be all funny and friendly when that’s a lie? They belong to him. They’re his friends. If I don’t shut them down, I’ll never get out from under the fog of Rory MacGregor. A fog following me for almost a decade.

  I spend a few extra moments sitting in my car in the parking lot, my hands gripping the steering wheel, my head pressed against my hands to decompress before driving back to Brighton’s house. The whole route including stoplights takes only a few minutes. Not only do I have to drink away my encounter with Rory, but now two daycare moms whom I actually liked and now… I can’t. And that pisses me off.

  Brighton takes the brown paper bags from my hands and replaces them by shoving sleep pants and a T-shirt at me right as I walk through the door. “Go get comfortable,” she orders, already having changed into her comfies.

  “Those two Lords daycare moms, I saw them at the store,” I shout to her through the partially open bathroom door.

  “Crap,” she hollers back.

  “They stopped me. Wanted to know about me and Rory.”

  “You don’t think they’re like stalking you, do you?”

  I walk back out to her living room not totally dressed, the tee draping down over my stomach. “Nah.” Since we’re relatively the same size, her shirts pull a little snug across the chest so I avoid her button-downs to avoid button gap and my ass and thighs push the limits of the stitching along the seams of her jeans and trousers but I’m far from spilling out of anything, I tossed my clothes in the hamper inside her laundry closet as I walked down the hallway. I’ll just borrow something of hers to wear tomorrow. “I think it was just coincidence.”

  “Do you think maybe you should look for another job?” she asks from the open kitchen.

  “No way. I’m only a teacher there for a few more months, then I take over as director when Ms. Lockhart retires. The money is too good and there aren’t that many daycares in or around Thornbriar. That means I’d have to commute or move again.”

  “I just got you back. You’re not leaving.” Brighton hands me off a cherry 7 and 7 and kisses my cheek, then taking hers, we walk to the sofa where I plop down, spilling a few drops over the rim of my glass onto my hand. No shame, I lick it off. Wasting even a drop of cherry 7 and 7 could be considered sacrilege. I tuck my legs under me, pull the blanket she left folded on the cushion over my lap and commence with my forget Rory MacGregor plan.

  Several hours later, when I’m much drunker than I should be on a weeknight, Brighton squeezes my knee. “Seriously,” she slurs and because it’s slurred, it sounds more like ‘suriously.’ “Whatcha gonna do about Rory?”

  I shrug. “Don’t really know. But I think it’ll involve making him sorry he ever broke my heart.”

  “Good plan,” she says, her eyes drooping right before she passes out.

  It is a good plan. Screw you, Rory MacGregor. Screw you.

  3.

  Scotch a.k.a. Rory

  “You think you can shut that kid up?” One of the crotchetier brothers, Crude, yells at me as I stand in the kitchen measuring formula into bottles. “I’m out here tryin’a get laid. If I wanted to hear that shit, I’d be at home with my own brats and old lady.”

  That pisses me off for three reasons. First, I’m trying here. I’ve had them for two days, he’s lucky I’m doing this well. I didn’t ask for this shite. Second, it’s Saturday and there’s a Lords’ party going on. Some fine pieces showed up tonight. Brothers out there getting laid and I’m making up fucking bottles. Third, he’s a brother, so I’ll refrain from giving him a piece of my mind, but I fucking hate when men don’t respect their women. Ya took her on, ya built a family with her, put a ring on it, ya don’t stick your dick in any other woman. Period.

  He’s a lucky bastard and doesn’t even realize it. How many men who want the love of a good woman can’t find it? Or us stupid shites who thought we had it once upon a time, but it turned out we were just fooling ourselves?

  After it’s cooled enough so as not to burn the little ones’ mouths, I pour the warm water into the bottles, screw on the nipples and shake the ever-loving-shite out of each one before walking them back to my room. A couple pieces approach me on the way until they see what’s in my hand. Then they back off. Best they back off anyway. It’s not like I can bang ’em in my room with the girls there and although I don’t judge the brothers who do, I’ve never been one for pounding pussy over the pool table or the old sofa. I much prefer pussy pounding in private.

  Jesus, you can hear them throughout the whole flipping hallway. I didn’t know babies cried so much. I don’t remember Gun crying so much. But sure enough, there’s Macie, red-faced and screeching. Mollie isn’t far behind. She’s crying, but at least it’s not that dimmable screech of her sister.

  I use the trick Elise taught me, to use one of the blankets balled up to help prop up the bottle, because they’re not big enough to hold the bottles themselves yet. Once they settle and get sleepy, if the bottle slips, the crying’ll just start up again.

  Mollie takes her bottle and quie
ts right away, whereas Macie, my problem child, refuses to settle. Going off the checklist in my head Elise gave me, I pick her up and bounce her. I kiss her head and try to comfort her. None of it works.

  I pat her diaper and it doesn’t feel too wet. It hasn’t been that long since one of the hot mamas came in to change her; I don’t think anyway. Macie and I walk over to the door. I open it and scan the hallway for Hannah—she’s a hot mama, a dancer at the club and Blood’s unofficial old lady, though the man really needs to get his head out of his arse and make it official because she’s fine as hell and sweet as sugar (though not as fine or sweet as Elise), and best of all, her room is only one down opposite mine. Right now, I’ll take anyone else. The problem is, I don’t see her or anyone else.

  What if she needs to be changed? Is it legal for me to see their parts? How the hell do single fathers do this? Lucky for us, there’s always been a woman around for changing or bath time. Well, until now that is.

  Before I pull my head back into the room, Duke and Caity round the corner into the hallway and he calls out to me. “Need to talk, brother.”

  I wait, holding the door open for the both of them.

  Duke takes Macie from my arms. “She needs changing.”

  “I couldn’t find any women to help,” I admit, shrugging.

  “You have the women change their diapers?” Caity asks.

  “I didn’t know if it was allowed for a single man to change a baby girl’s diaper.”

  Caity bites her bottom lip to keep from laughing at me. Duke shakes his head.

  “Of course yer allowed. Their yer babies. Lay her on the bed. I’ll talk you through it,” he orders.

  I take Macie back from him and lay her down on my bed. She has this purple onesie thing on that doesn’t match the knit cap neither of the babes is allowed off except for bath time, until I can tell them apart—though Mollie seems a bit more mellow. The onesie snaps at the crotch. I unsnap it, then wait.

  “Peel the tabs,” he tells me, and I do. “Good, now grab her feet by the ankles in one hand and lift her butt to pull the wet one away.”

  I do that too. But her bits are covered in an angry red rash. “Is that normal?” I ask Caity.

  She moves past her husband. “No, Scotch. She’s got a diaper rash. Poor baby. No wonder she’s been crying. That’s got to burn.”

  Now I feel awful. She’s been dealing with a rash on her most private bits. “I have this cream Elise had me buy. Should I use that?”

  “Yes,” she says, exasperated. “For goodness’ sake, get it out.”

  I walk over to the dresser where I keep their essentials and pull the unopened box out, then I walk it back over to Caity. “Here.” I offer it over.

  “I’m not doing it. They’re your girls, Scotch.”

  She’s going to make me touch her? Why couldn’t they have been twin boys? At least there are witnesses to prove my innocence should the baby police raid the compound for single men who have seen their daughter’s naked bum.

  Caity stands to my side watching but not offering to help. Before doing anything else, I read the directions on the box.

  It says there’s a foil piece under the cap that needs to be removed first, which I do—or I try to do. Picking with fingernails doesn’t work the ten minutes spent attempting what should be a minor task if the damn aluminum wasn’t spot-welded to the spout.

  Finally, I give up and use my teeth. Macie, for her part, stopped screeching, taking it down to a basic cry.

  I squeeze a big blob of the cold white goop on my fingers to keep enough of a barrier between me and her skin when I start spreading it. Nothing for it. Every red-dotted spot gets a coating. She startles when the chill meets her flaming skin, but it must feel good because for the first time since they’ve been with me, and she’s been awake—Macie stops crying.

  Thank fuck.

  I look to Duke and Caity with my mouth hanging open, shock clearly evident. “She stopped crying,” I say, stating the obvious.

  “Put the dry diaper under her in case she pees,” Caity directs me. “But leave it off for a little while to help her air out and let the ointment begin working.”

  Mid-diaper-under-the-bum slide, Duke gets to what he really came in here for. “The brothers are complainin’.”

  “I know. But she’s stopped now.”

  “They’re sleepin’ in car carriers. You don’t even have proper cribs for ’em. It ain’t good for ’em to be in a biker clubhouse. They can’t lie on the floor to roll and kick.”

  “What am I supposed to do? I’ve lived here since I prospected.”

  “We got them trailers on the property. Some are occupied, but we got empty ones, too. Hell, my kids’ got a fuckin’ playground in our backyard and there’ll be other kids to play with as they get bigger.”

  “When do I need to be out?”

  “Tomorrow.” He takes a ring of keys from his pocket. “These’re empty. Pick one. Bring me back the rest of ’em. Place’ll be yers long as you wanna live there.”

  I don’t know what to say. Like Trisha said yesterday, this is the brotherhood. The reason we join the club. They have my back. Instead of getting sentimental, I tell him, “There’s this beautiful blue with white trim and a big-as-shite wrapper porch I have my eye on.”

  “That one’s occupied.” He chuckles. Don’t think I ever heard the man chuckle once in all the years I’d known him before Caity came along.

  “Thanks,” I tell him with sincerity.

  “Right,” Caity says. “We have a sitter and I plan on taking full advantage of my husband before the clock strikes midnight and I turn back into a mom. Kids have this uncanny ability to know exactly when you begin to fool around, and that’s the exact time they need a drink, have a tummy ache or had a bad dream.”

  She tugs on Duke’s arm.

  “Night, brother. It seems I gotta go fuck my wife now.” He kisses her and traces his hand down from her cheek to grasp hers. They walk out, leaving me alone with an airing-out, naked-bummed Macie.

  “Ya wouldn’t do that to yar old man, would ya now?” I ask, whispering because she looks to be falling asleep.

  She smiles at me and I know this wee lass means to be trouble.

  Sunday, I pick a nice three-bedroom with yellow siding and white trim for us. Unlike the other temporary singlewides we use when we have to bring families onto the compound for protection or whatever, this one has a small porch rather than a simple stoop and sits the closest to Duke and Caity’s.

  There’s an ugly old sleeper sofa in the living room. Brown and orange flowers printed on whatever prickly fabric they covered sofas in back in the seventies—so whomever left it must have bought the thing at a yard sale. A wooden table with four mismatched chairs between the living room and kitchen, a few plates, mugs and flatware in the cupboards. Other than that, I had my work cut out for me. But at least in here the lasses won’t see something their innocent eyes shouldn’t witness.

  Sunday night the little ones and I camp on the living room floor since we lack any baby bedding and I don’t want them rolling off the sofa sleeper bed to the floor.

  We spent the morning cleaning the carpet, of all things, so they could roll around.

  Bright and early Monday morning, I borrow Duke’s truck to take ’em to daycare. My truck, the one that I bought the day Mollie and Macie came to live with me, just came in. The lot didn’t have any extended cabs, which meant I had to order it.

  Macie goes back to crying about the time I hook her in her car seat. I’ve fed her, changed her, and still, she cries.

  My head is pounding when I bring my girls in and drop the bag on the desk. Frankie walks up to greet us because they’re in her room.

  She checks the bag. “You don’t have enough diapers in here to last the day.” Her tone couldn’t be considered anything other than biting. I could almost deal with the biting tone getting to see her with her hair up in a messy bun, wisps of loose strands framing her face, and in that tight, w
hite T-shirt showing off a hint of skin—one of my favorite places to put my lips when we’d messed around. She was so sensitive there…

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Fuck me.”

  “Don’t curse in here. The children.”

  “Ya know what—” I start but stop myself. She’s right. “I’m sorry. Macie’s favorite pastime is crying. We moved into a place yesterday, but they don’t even have cribs yet, so I had to sleep on the floor with ’em.”

  “You hate sleeping on the floor. Your sinuses.”

  I fucking can’t believe she remembered that after all these years.

  “My head’s killing me. I have to pick up my truck and then I need to sort out a nursery. I didn’t even know I was allowed to touch their bums to clean them off during diaper changing until Saturday when Duke and Caity set me straight. I’d been finding women to do it for me.”

  She throws her head back to laugh. The sound hurts my head thanks to my headache but I refuse to tell her because it’s a glorious sound I haven’t heard in too long.

  Frankie always had the best laugh. I heard her laugh before I ever saw her throwing darts in a bar. Badly. It gave me the perfect excuse to go talk to her.

  “I’m just so fucking—sorry—freaking overwhelmed here.”

  “Doesn’t their mother help out?”

  “No mother involved. Yar about to think I’m a major dick. But the first day I brought them in here was the first day I met them.”

  She furrows her sexy—no, don’t think of her as sexy—her brow, her confusion clear. She is sexy and I’ve missed her. Best fuck of my life. But more than that, I never felt so good about myself as when I was with her. It took a whole brotherhood to give me only part of what this one woman offered—until she took it away.

  “Here’s the worst of it. Their mother showed up at the compound, and I didn’t recognize her. I got a one-night stand pregnant. I mean, I didn’t even remember her name.”

  She folds her arms over her chest, shifting on her hip, clenching her jaw, pursing her kissable lips. A shame because it’s a real judgmental pose and I want nothing more shove my tongue in her mouth. It’s her eyes though, they don’t match the rest of her. If I have to guess—I’ll guess relief. “You’re right—that’s a dick move,” she says. Though I feel like her eyes are giving me my in. And I plan on taking it. One more night with Frankie, how often had I dreamed of that?