DIRTY DESIRES: A Devil Kings MC Story

by Nicole James

  “Tired?”

  “Seems I’m always tired lately.”

  “Still getting sick?”

  “It comes and goes, but not as much anymore.”

  “That’s a good thing.”

  We walk to the car and just before Hayley fires it up she turns to me and says, “If it’s a girl, you better name her after me… at least her middle name.”

  I smile, but it’s a sad smile, knowing Gypsy won’t have any say in it. I’ll deliver alone, name the baby alone, raise it alone…

  Hayley interrupts my thoughts. “I see that sad look. Don’t you worry; I’ll be here for you through all of it, even those dumb classes you have to take.”

  As I burst into tears, she calls me a crybaby and cranks the tunes. “Will you stop crying if we stop at Sonic for ice cream?”

  I smile and nod. She knows me so well.

  Twenty minutes later, I’m shoving a spoonful of hot fudge sundae in my mouth when Hayley pulls to the curb outside my mom’s house.

  “You’ve got company.”

  I look over and see Gypsy sitting on the steps, his knees spread, his elbows on them, and his hands loosely clasped. He watches us.

  “Oh, shit,” I whisper, yanking the spoon from my mouth.

  “Give him a chance, Tess, and call me if you need me.”

  I open the car door. She quickly drives away as I head slowly up the walk.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask him.

  He stands and shoves his hands in his pockets. I glance over and spot his bike in the drive. He doesn’t answer, just asks a question of his own.

  “How long have you known?”

  Shit. He knows, and only one person could have told him. Damn you, Hayley. I look over at his bike, avoiding his eyes.

  “Tess, you should have told me.”

  I nod, my throat suddenly closing up.

  Worry flickers in his icy blue gaze.

  “You okay?”

  Maybe I could lean on someone for once, let him hold me and pretend it’s all going to be okay. I’m tired of trying to be strong. So tired.

  He grabs the sundae from my hand, tosses it in a bush, and pulls me toward him for a kiss.

  “Hey!” I shove him back.

  “Let’s go inside and talk.”

  “No.”

  “Tess.”

  “No.”

  “Babe, please.”

  I relent with a huff and unlock the door. We walk in, and I fold my arms. “So talk.”

  His eyes lift to the stairs and the open walk above. “Which one’s your room?”

  “What do you care?” I’m being a bitch, but I can’t help it.

  “Come on.” He grabs my hand and pulls me along. Uncannily, he finds my room on the first try, turning the knob on the door to what was my childhood bedroom.

  Since my mom’s been in rehab and I’ve been trying to find that money, I’ve been staying here. The room still has my twin bed. There’s a highboy dresser on one side of the window and a desk on the other with built-in shelves above. But they aren’t filled with the usual trophies from sporting events or scouts or whatever it is normal girls have whose fathers aren’t a one-percenter biker. My room is stark, just a couple books and a few posters on the wall.

  He steps over to the poster of One Direction and smirks, “Boy bands, really?”

  I cross my arms, on the defensive. “I was like eleven.”

  “Still.” He peruses the rest of the room, then scans the titles of the books on the shelf. “Harry Potter, hmm?” he turns to look at me.

  “What’s wrong with Harry Potter?”

  “Nothing. Ever been to that theme park with all the Harry Potter stuff?”

  “No, but it's on my bucket list.”

  “How old do you think the kid’s got to be before we take him?”

  “What kid?”

  “The baby.”

  My mouth literally falls open. “You want to take our baby to…”

  He shrugs. “When he’s old enough.”

  “She.”

  “She?”

  I shrug. “Maybe.” The plan was I’d raise this baby alone; now here he is messing up the plan. I’m so thrown I don’t know how to respond.

  “You got a name picked out?”

  “I’m not even showing yet, and you think I’ve got a name already?”

  “Do you?”

  I relent. “Maybe.”

  “What is it?”

  “Layla.”

  He lifts a brow. “Like the song?”

  “What song?”

  He rolls his eyes. “The Eric Clapton song.”

  I shrug, pretending I’m too young to know. “Oh. Is there a song?” Gypsy has no idea that Hayley has a vintage record collection to end all collections ever. She’d slug my arm if I feigned not to know Layla. I fight the giggle, but it bubbles up.

  “Oh, I see. Just giving me a hard time, huh?”

  “Maybe.”

  I’m still standing by the door when he returns to me and backs me up against it. I don’t know what to do with all my feelings. I’ve missed him so, but I’ve spent days, weeks even, hating him… or at least trying to hate him. Now I’m not sure what I want from him. I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that I’ll raise this child by myself. Now here he is, blowing those plans all to hell.

  He cups my face and forces me to meet his gaze. Tears sting my eyes at the emotion in his. I try to fight them back, blinking. I try to be strong. I don’t want to let him inside my heart if he’s not going to stick around. The past weeks have been hell.

  It sucked to want someone who might never be able to give himself to me.

  It sucked loving someone who might never be mine.

  He takes my chin in his hand and turns my head to the side. He brushes a fingertip over the fading yellow bruise on my cheek. “Are you all right?”

  I nod, my eyes flooding.

  “What happened?” he demands quietly. “Hayley told me, but I want to hear it from you.”

  “She did?”

  “Yup. That son-of-a-bitch hit you, didn’t he?”

  The anger’s back in his arctic eyes.

  “It’s over now. I don’t want to think about that.”

  “When I think about what you did, the chance you took…” He touches his forehead to mine.

  “It’s been a hell of a week.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  I lift my hand to his neck, stroking my thumb along the stubble on his jawline, clinging for just a moment to the dream of him again.

  His hands slide to my ass, dragging me closer. “You scared the fuck outta me, Tess. I’m sorry it’s taken me a minute, but I’ve been trying to get my head around us.”

  “You’re not the only one, you know.”

  He takes my hand and presses a kiss to the inside of my wrist. It’s sweet and makes me melt more than any ravenous kiss could have done.

  “Just leave. Please, Gypsy,” I whisper. I can’t help the overwhelming need to push him away. My defense mechanisms are kicking in full force.

  “Nope. Sorry. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  My level of exhaustion is increasing rapidly. I frown, tired and not sure what he means. I ache for what he has to give, but I’m afraid, too. Afraid to take another risk, another chance, just to be let down in the end.

  But he’s here, and he’s trying. Something I never thought he’d do, and I have to give him credit for that.

  I move to the window and stare out, hugging myself, so conflicted. He moves behind me, his palms landing on the tight muscles of my shoulders.

  His hands aren’t gentle as he kneads my tight muscles.

  Sometimes, when I least expect it, his gentleness takes me by surprise, and my defenses fall like a stack of children’s blocks scattered wide by a child’s fist.

  Gypsy has no problem giving me multiple orgasms, but tenderness has been a little harder to pull from him.

  Somehow those hands on my sh
oulders tip the scale and release a flood of feelings—feelings I’ve been busy trying to deny.

  I expected him to run, to take the easy way out, to bail. But here he is, standing here, wanting to name our child and planning trips to take him to theme parks.

  He seems no longer doubtful or hesitant. Can I trust that?

  He turns me into his arms, my face to his cut, and holds me as my tears flow. He murmurs soft words of regret and promises of better times and rock-solid positivity that everything will work out. Together they soothe me more than anything else ever has in my life.

  I tip my chin to meet his stark blue eyes. “What do you want, Gypsy?”

  “You. Both of you, Tess. I’ve been feeling empty inside, and it’s clear to me what’s missing. What I’m trying to say is I want you in my life. I want you both in my life. I know you’re independent. I know you can take care of yourself. I know you don’t need me, but baby, I need you.”

  “But the club…”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll handle it. You and me, we’ve had something from the very first moment I laid eyes on you, strutting across that bar to ask me for a drink. Neither one of us can deny that fact. I’m tryin’ to tell you that I love you, Tess, and I’m in this for the long haul.” He bumps my nose with his and smiles. “That what you wanted to hear?”

  I nod and throw my arms around his neck, grabbing on tight to the dream I was so afraid to believe in.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Gypsy—

  After weeks of planning and waiting and biding our time, it’s finally the day we’re supposed to pull out for Sturgis. If all goes as planned, this shit will go our way.

  “Never fear, the dream team is here,” Peanut says. He’s the president of our support club, the Murder Mob MC. They’re lined up with our bikes, dressed in our cuts, their faces covered with neck wraps and sunglasses.

  “They look pretty close,” Jammer says, arms folded, rocking back on his heels.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that was us.” I grin over at him as we watch.

  Rusty and Reno approach.

  “You boys ready?” Rusty asks.

  We nod. “You know it boss,” I say.

  “Listen up,” he calls everyone around. “When they pull out, we lay in wait for the Demons to make their move and take them out. Then we hit their clubhouse. We don’t leave anyone to tell the tale, got that?”

  Everyone nods.

  Rusty looks at Reno. “You get the women somewhere safe?”

  “Yup. All locked down.”

  “How’s Kara? She hangin’ in there?”

  “Baby’s due next week. Hopefully she makes it that long.”

  Rusty nods, whistles sharply, and swings his hand over his head like a lasso. “Head ‘em out.”

  The Murder Mob all fire up their bikes and pull out in a long line, two by two. A prospect closes the gate behind them, and we all return inside to take up our places. We’ve got a scout up in a window of a building on the corner of the street that leads in. We’ll get a two-minute heads up if they come that way. If they hit us from the back of the warehouse, we’ve got a guy posted on the other side of the tracks, but that cuts our warning down to less than a minute. Either way, we’re ready and waiting.

  I pull my piece and check my clip.

  “Remember,” Rusty calls out, “we wait until they’re in the building to take them down.”

  “This should be cake,” someone whispers a little too confidently.

  “Don’t get cocky,” Rusty snaps in the direction of the comment. “That goes for all of you. This’ll be a fight to the death. Hopefully we get the drop on ‘em and things all go our way. Quiet down now. The wait begins.”

  An hour goes by, and everyone’s nerves are on edge. Reno finally gets a call from a prospect he’s got posted near the Devil Demon’s clubhouse. He listens to the report, and then calls out to everyone. “They just pulled out in a van and two sedans. They’re heavily armed. Be ready.”

  I pick up the sawed-off shotgun on the concrete floor next to me where I sit with Jammer hidden behind the bar.

  Rusty tells Reno, “Call the prospect inside.”

  “On it.”

  A moment later, the kid abandons the gate and jogs in. We close the doors and wait.

  With nothing to do in the oddly quiet warehouse that is our clubhouse, my mind goes over the night before. Jammer, Reno, and I had shown up at Reload’s place. We were going to take him out anyway, but I wanted my pound of flesh for what he’d done to Tess. My brothers understood and gave that to me…

  Twelve hours earlier…

  We enter the building in the dark of night. It’s not hard to gain access. We find his apartment, and I put a boot to the flimsy lock, busting the door open and cracking it against the wall. The son-of-a-bitch is asleep on the couch, the television on and a bottle of Tequila next to him.

  I pull my gun and press it to his forehead. “Wake up, motherfucker.”

  His bleary eyes open, and he focuses in on me, then the realization of the barrel pressed to his skin sinks in. “What the fuck do you want?”

  Jammer chuckles from the door. “He’s the tooth fairy, Reload. Come to collect your molars.”

  “Get up,” I order as I pass my piece to Reno and flex my fists. “I hear you like to beat on women, asshole.”

  “What?” He staggers to his feet, taking in the three of us.

  Gaining his feet is all I’ll give him to even the odds.

  He eyes his gun lying just out of reach on the end table.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” Reno warns, raising his weapon.

  I grab Reload by the shirt with both fists and throw him across the room into a folding table and chairs. It smashes, and poker cards and half empty beer bottles tumble to the floor.

  I pick up one of the longnecks and smash it against a corner of the wall until I’m left with just the jagged neck in my hand. I advance on him. “You’re a real tough guy, aren’t you, Reload? Like to hurt women and anything weaker than you. You’re a fucking piece of shit. Get to your damn feet and fight a man for a change, motherfucker.”

  He staggers up, not taking his eyes from me. I lunge with the bottle and get a good slash across his face before he pivots and darts to the side, hissing in pain.

  The apartment is small with not a lot of places for him to go. He’s tripping over shit as he backs up. He scans for a weapon… anything to use against me.

  Not about to give him time to find one, I toss the broken bottle and charge him, plowing him into a wooden chair that smashes under both our weight. We roll on the floor, and I grab a broken chair leg and bash him in the head. Once I start, I can’t stop swinging. I hit him again and again until his blood is splattered all over the walls, and Jammer grabs my arm, halting my swing.

  “He’s dead, bro.”

  We hear a distant siren.

  “Time to go,” Reno snaps, and we disappear down the back stairs, three dark shadows dressed all in black, right down to our gloves.

  Rusty’s shout snaps me out of my memories.

  “They’re coming up the front road, all three vehicles. Get ready,” he calls out to the clubhouse.

  Silence reigns again.

  I glance over at Jammer and whisper, “Whatever happens, I’ve got your back, brother.”

  He grins. “Same, bro. Always.”

  The door bursts open, and the shooting starts.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Tess—

  “Damn key’s got to be somewhere,” I murmur. Hayley and I are looking through the pockets of every jacket my father has hanging in the closet when my phone rings. I recognize the number immediately and hiss, “It’s him.”

  We both go silent as I listen to the recording telling me the call is coming from inside a state prison. I press one to accept charges and wave Hayley over to listen in. “Hello?”

  “’Bout time you answered. You coming this weekend or what?”

  Hayley
mouths the words at me silently, tell him you’re not home.

  I nod. “Sorry, I’ve got a lot to deal with right now with Mom in rehab. It won’t be tomorrow. I’m out of town right now. Maybe Sunday.”

  “So… you’re not home right now?”

  Hayley and I exchange a look, and I reply, “Nope.”

  “Okay, well, how’s your mom?” It’s clear he adds the question almost as an afterthought.

  I know he doesn’t care and is just making small talk, like that’s the reason he called. “She’s fine.”

  “See you Sunday, then.” He disconnects before I can say anything else.

  Hayley gives me a high-five. “He was in a hurry. I bet he’s calling Sylvia right now to get her ass over here.”

  “We better get ready. You’ll need to hide your car down the street somewhere.”

  “I’m going.” She grabs up her keys and dashes to the door, shouting over her shoulder, “Get one of your father’s guns and make sure it’s loaded.”

  “On it.”

  Half an hour later, Hayley and I are waiting in the darkened house. We argued over if I should leave the door unlocked. In the end I locked the front door; I’m almost positive Sylvia took my mom’s purse with her keys. Just in case I’m wrong, I leave the back door unlocked.

  The drapes are drawn, but I can see out through a crack.

  “God, this is nerve-wracking,” Hayley whines.

  “Shh, a car is pulling in.” I stretch to watch. “It’s her.”

  “Quick, get in position.”

  I dash to hide behind an easy chair in the family room; we’re both pretty sure that’s where Sylvia will go, based on the way she was digging near the desk. Hayley is hiding in the dining room, behind the buffet, so she can be on the other side of the house from me. If there’s a struggle, she can creep up behind her.

  The screen door opens with a creak, and Sylvia slides a key into the lock. A moment later, the front door swings open.

  “Hello?” she calls out.

  I stay hidden as footsteps come down the hall.

  “Hello?” she calls out again. “Tess? Anyone home?”

  I peer around the edge of the chair and watch her enter the family room. She drops her purse to the floor with a thud, flips the light on, then as I expected, beelines right for the old roll top desk. There’s a lot of shuffling, and I’m sure she’s digging through the pile of junk mail and papers.