This Ain't Love: MC Romance (BDMC: Second Generation Book 1)

by A. M. Myers

  I grin. “Thanks.”

  Aiden is six foot three inches of delicious, greek god-ness wrapped up in an expensive suit that hugs his muscular frame in a way that would affect even the most devout nun. Combine that with his dark hair and piercing blue eyes and it’s a recipe for disaster. One that I must never indulge in. I first met Aiden just a few weeks before I started working here at the radio show when he witnessed me verbally eviscerating a man who had pissed me off at a bar. Honestly, I couldn’t even tell you the guy’s name or what he did to make me so angry but I very clearly remember Aiden approaching me a few minutes later to strike up a conversation. At first, I assumed he was interested in taking me home and let me tell you, one look at him and I was in but when he offered me a job instead, it complicated things. Had I met him anywhere else, in any other circumstance, I would have been climbing him like a tree in minutes flat but he is my boss and that is absolutely a line I will not cross.

  Not that Aiden has gotten the memo.

  He meets my gaze and his eyes heat. I suck in a breath as he drags his tongue along his bottom lip and his eyes trail down my body, taking in the tight leather pants and black booties I picked out for this evening. A string of profanities rush through my thoughts.

  “Got any plans tonight, Izzy?” he asks, hope in his eyes and a few more curse words fly through my head. God, the man is smoking hot with the promise of mind-blowing orgasms in his eyes but I cannot allow myself to succumb to his charms. The sex would be good - amazing, even - but mixing business and pleasure is never a good idea and it turns out, I love this job more than I ever expected to so I refuse to do anything to jeopardize that. But I respect Aiden and I appreciate the opportunity he’s given me so I won’t tell him off like I would any other guy, which means I’m walking a very precarious line between giving into the chemistry between us and making sure he doesn’t fire me.

  “Yeah, I’ve got a hot date tonight.”

  Of course, it’s with a carton of lo mein and my television but he doesn’t need to know that. Let him think I’m having wild, crazy sex with someone so he’ll let this attraction of his go. His face falls and my stomach clenches. It’s not because of Aiden though. Thoughts of hot sex always makes me think of someone else, someone I’ve been actively avoiding thinking about for months now and I blow out a breath as I struggle to keep him out. When I was a kid, I dreamed about meeting the love of my life, getting married, and having a family just like all of the other girls. It was a fairy tale and unrealistic and when it was ripped away from me, I spent a lot of years being angry and hiding it from everyone before I made the decision to take control of my emotions. It’s what led me to the rules I have now for dating and there has ever only been one man who made me question my lifestyle and even that was short lived before I buried the ridiculous notion back in the deepest pit of hell, where it belonged.

  “That’s exciting,” Stella adds, pulling me out of my thoughts as she looks up from her bag, oblivious to Aiden’s disappointment and the tension suddenly filling the booth. I can’t understand how she doesn’t notice when it feels like it’s choking me. “It’s been a while since you’ve been out with anyone, hasn’t it?”

  I nod. “A little while, yeah.”

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” Aiden says as he turns to leave. “See you Monday.”

  “Bye, Aiden. Have a good night,” I call, wondering if I should just be upfront with him but in my experience, men like Aiden see something like that as a challenge and I can’t have that. There was a time in my life when I would have bucked the rules and slept with my boss anyway and I would have loved making him chase me but so much has changed in the last few months that I honestly don’t even recognize myself anymore. Aiden doesn’t even glance back at me as he leaves the booth and heads up the stairs to his office. Once he’s out of sight, I sigh and stand up to grab my bag off my chair.

  “Want to walk out with me?” Stella asks, pulling her head out of her purse and standing up. I nod, throwing my bag over my shoulder as she does the same and heads for the door. I follow her out of the booth.

  “Have a good night, Casey,” I call and he flashes me a grin.

  “You, too, Izzy. See you in a few days.”

  Stella and I make idle chitchat as we walk out of the building, but my mind is still consumed with everything I’ve been trying to forget, everything that’s been messing with me lately and I barely hear her as she goes on about wishing she could find a good man.

  “Have a good night, girls,” Daryl, the security guard stationed outside the front door, calls as we walk past him and we turn back, offering him a smile as we wave. Aiden insists on having security by the door at all times, not only to watch over the station but Stella and me since our show ends so late. Despite that, Stella is super vigilant and always asks me to walk out with her since we park right next to each other when we arrive to host our show. Also, I’m ninety percent sure she’s got pepper spray and a mini taser in her purse, just in case all else fails. When we reach her car, she unlocks the door before turning back to me and flashing me a smile.

  “Thanks for walking with me.”

  I nod. “Of course. Have a good night.”

  “Oh, that reminds me,” she shoots back with a smirk. “Have fun on your date and I can’t wait to hear all about it Monday night.”

  I laugh but it feels insincere. “I’ll be sure to take notes for you.”

  “Perfect,” she answers before slipping behind the wheel of her car and she waves to me as she pulls out of her parking spot. I watch her pull out of the lot, my stomach churning as my mind swims with all of the secrets I’m keeping and the fact that I’m lying to almost everyone in my life right now.

  Chapter Two

  Diego

  “R U Mine?” by Arctic Monkeys spills out of the speakers and I sigh. My eyes burn as I stare down at the case file on the desk in front of me, the words blurring to the point that I can’t even pretend to make out what it says on the page anymore. Not that it matters much. I’ve been staring at this case for a week straight and I have the whole damn thing memorized backward and forward. The information inside, which is limited, hasn’t been doing me a bit of good and it’s driving me to fucking madness. I have no witness statements, no evidence that should have been collected at the scene, and the rape kit that was performed at the hospital just after the attack has “magically” disappeared. As if all of that wasn’t bad enough, I have no way of digging into this and getting the proof of guilt I need to do anything worthwhile without turning it into more of a mess than it already is. Sighing, I scrub my hand over my eyes, squeezing them shut in the hopes that it will ease my pounding head. It doesn’t and I clench my teeth.

  Fuck.

  I used to be a damn good detective, one of the best in the city - something my mother would tell all of her friends with pride anytime the opportunity arose - but that feels like a damn lifetime ago. Since leaving the force and coming to work for Devil in the Details Investigations, the P.I. business run by my club, it seems like I always end up right back here, staring at a case file and hoping to discover something I missed in the first hundred read throughs. Is this just the nature of investigative work? You just stare at the same damn shit, racking your brain for an idea or a lead until, miraculously, you catch a break?

  No…

  I know that can’t be true because, like I said, I used to be good at this shit. I used to see things in a way nobody else could. I used to close cases and put the bad guys away before everything fell the fuck apart. When I first joined the police academy a couple of years after graduating high school, I had this vision for my life and a purpose that I felt so deeply in my soul that I never questioned it. I wanted to help people and I was so sure that when I reached the end of my time on this earth, I would look proudly on my life and tell people about the good I achieved. And in the beginning of my career, I truly think I did make a difference, but as the years passed and I worked my way up through the departmen
t to detective, things became so fuzzy. Men that I admired, idolized as the epitome of justice and truth, turned out to be just as dirty as the criminals I was putting away and by the time I walked away, I didn’t recognize myself or my life. I was so far away from the man I set out to be that I was certain I had to be moving onto something better but just sitting around like this, trying to think of a direction to look in, is for the fucking birds.

  I need action.

  I need direction.

  I need something to do because being stuck in this office is making me lose my goddamn mind. Letting out a humorless laugh, I open my eyes and stare up at the ceiling. Who the fuck am I kidding? My life has been an absolute shit show for so long now and this small annoyance, this insignificant irritant is not going to be the thing that breaks me. I’ve been through hell already and I refuse to let this be the nail in my proverbial coffin.

  Turning in my chair, my gaze flicks to the clock on the wall and I sigh, dropping my chin down as I shake my head. This is the fourth time this week that I’ve been here, burying myself in work until past midnight to avoid going back to an empty house. If I stopped and took the time to examine my life, it probably wouldn’t take me long to connect the dots between my wavering sanity and the fact that I have nothing - nothing to look forward to and not a thing to live for. But I won’t do that - examine my life, I mean - because it’s too goddamn dangerous and sometimes you find a hell of a lot more than you bargained for when you go poking under rocks.

  Stifling a yawn, I lean forward in my chair again and turn to the next page in the case file, scanning the information there like something might have changed but it never does and I resist the urge to chuck Hazel’s file across the room. Hazel McDaid first came into the Devil in the Details about two weeks ago to see if we could do something to help her after the police didn’t do their jobs. I wish I could say I was surprised by the corruption I heard as I listened to her story but tales like hers are the exact reason I made the choice to walk away. The system designed to protect its citizens from the monsters of the world failed her in the worst possible way and I can’t help but clench my teeth as I think about the bullshit that led her to my office.

  Three months ago, just as the local college was wrapping up classes for the summer and everyone was celebrating the end of another school year, Hazel’s friends convinced her to go out with them one night. One of the fraternities was throwing a huge party and they told her it would be fun but if I close my eyes right now, I could still see the way she folded in on herself as she told me what happened that night and I ball up my fist as I stare down at her file. It’s too fucking thin, especially for a case like hers, telling me that the boys in blue didn’t even attempt to get justice for this poor girl. My gaze flicks to my laptop in the corner of the desk and my fingers itch to press play on the recording I took of Hazel telling me her story. It’s another thing I know by heart at this point but I keep listening to it, hoping to catch something new. All it really does is torture me.

  Blowing out a breath, I lean back again and try to calm myself down but as my mind begins replaying the conversation I had with her in this office, I know it’s no use. I remember looking up from my desk and finding her standing in the doorway to my office, looking like she was ready to throw up or run and it took a good five minutes to convince her to sit down and talk to me. She was certain that I wouldn’t be able to do anything for her and more than anything, I just want to prove her wrong. I flip to the next page in the file and scoop the entire thing off of the desk as I read over my notes from my interview with her.

  She and her friends arrived at the fraternity and the place was packed but they made their way inside, got a few drinks, and started dancing. They were having a good time until Hazel started to feel off and left her friends to find a bathroom so she could splash water on her face. She was upstairs when she was approached by one of the boys who lived at the fraternity and he told her that she could use his bathroom but as soon as he got her alone, he was all over her. A wave of heat rushes through me as I remember the way she started crying so hard she could barely speak as she told me about him locking her in his bedroom and throwing her down on the bed. He climbed on top of her and she tried to fight him off as he grabbed at her body but he easily overpowered her - probably thanks to the drugs I suspect he slipped into her drink - and started ripping the clothes from her body. Her whole body shook as she told me about him shoving his way in between her legs and my stomach flips in disgust as I imagine the scene in my head. I’ve heard too many of these cases, seen too many photos of the bruises and wounds left on a woman’s body after a man has had his way with her to imagine anything else, even if those photos were missing from her file. Thank God, she had the forethought to take photos of her injuries herself and save them to her phone, otherwise I wouldn’t have anything to go on.

  When he was finished raping her, she said that he thanked her and told her she was good as he got dressed and then he left her in the room, laying on the bed naked and sobbing. She was unable to move for a little while and without a toxicology report, I can’t be sure if that’s due to drugs or trauma but when she could finally move again, she got dressed and found her friends. They immediately took her to the hospital, where a nurse assured me a rape kit was performed, but the evidence was lost by the time the file landed on my desk. It wasn’t a surprise though. As soon as Hazel told me the name of the boy who assaulted her, I knew exactly what I would find when I started digging into the case. Brady Calhoun, the boy Hazel accused, is the oldest son of Beckett Calhoun, who just happens to be a childhood friend of the chief of police. All it took was one quick little phone call from Beckett and all of the chief’s minions were scrambling to cover this whole damn thing up. It’s why this file is so damn thin and I have absolutely nothing to get Hazel the justice she deserves but I can’t bring myself to walk away either. I need to find a solution.

  I kick the desk in front of me, the thought of letting Hazel down making my stomach turn, and a few things fall to the floor. I don’t give a shit about the mess though. I will just fucking deal with it in the morning if my secretary, Elise, doesn’t beat me to it. Glancing up at the clock again, I toss the file to the desk and sigh. I’m done for the night. If I stare at this damn case for one more minute, I might actually lose my mind and if I’m forced to think about the corruption that drove me away from a job I loved, I can’t be held responsible for whatever I do next. Leaning forward, I flip the file closed and stand up, stretching before I grab my cut off of the chair and slip it on, loving the calm that settles over me as it settles on my shoulders. Despite all of the shit that went down when I left the force, I don’t regret my decision and I know that joining the Bayou Devils MC was the right move for me. I had been working with the guys for years, helping them when I could and they did the same in return since there were just some things that, as a cop, I couldn’t do and by the time we finally got around to making it official, I was already an honorary member in my brother’s eyes. And if I’m being honest, I wouldn’t have survived the past couple of years without them.

  Sighing, I run my hand through my hair as I hesitate next to my desk, my mind torn with indecision. There isn’t a single part of me that wants to go back to the compound to an empty house where all I will have to keep me company are the same thoughts that have been drowning me for the past two years and a bottle of whiskey but staying here for any longer tonight will land me in a straitjacket, I’m sure of it. Swiping my keys off of the desk, I turn off the radio and head for the door, hoping that a few of the guys will be hanging out at the clubhouse by the time I get there so I have an excuse not to go home. Hell, even passing out drunk on the clubhouse floor is better than the alternative.

  Chapter Three

  Isabelle

  My stomach growls as I whip my Cadillac ATS-V into a parking spot right outside of my favorite Chinese restaurant and I sigh as I put the car in park and turn it off before leaning back in my seat and closing
my eyes. A wave of nausea washes over me but I push it back down as I open my eyes, grab my phone from the cupholder, and climb out of the car. Shutting the car door, I catch my reflection in the window and my gaze drops to my stomach. A smile teases my lips as I place my hand on the tiny little bump under my shirt and my baby kicks back, knocking my hand with some part of their body.

  I grin.

  Before this little angel bulldozed his way into my life, I had things all planned out and by that, I mean I didn’t have any grand plans except to have fun, travel the world, and live. If I wanted to drop everything and fly to Mexico for the weekend, I would. If I met a hot stranger in a bar and wanted to go home with him, I was free to so discovering that I had a little bun in the oven was one hell of a shock. One I didn’t handle well. This sweet baby… it didn’t fit into any of my plans or my life and I never saw myself as a mother so after agonizing over it for a long damn time, I made an appointment to terminate the pregnancy. Except when it came time for my appointment, I sat in my car in the office parking lot and cried for over an hour, trying to make up my mind but I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe and in a panic, I left. A week later, I scheduled another appointment but I didn’t even make it out of my house that time. After the third missed appointment, I sat on the shower floor as hot water rained down on me and cried for hours, begging for answers from whatever mystical power is watching over us all. Finally, I realized that it was time to get my shit together and be the kind of mom this kid deserves, whether it was part of my plan or not. But that doesn’t mean it’s been easy to come to terms with this or admit it to the people in my life.