by Nicole Fox
“How’s Rose settling in?” If I were honest with myself, I had said that I would get to know the girl when I offered to take the two of them in, but actually doing so had been fucking terrifying. I’d barely talked to the tyke.
“She’s fine. She likes Travis; thinks his eye patch is cool and makes him look like a pirate.”
“He does like booty.”
She laughed at that.
“He does.” Then she got a little serious. “You know, if you want to talk to her yourself, you can. She asks about you.”
“She does?”
“Mmhm.”
Well, hell.
“It’s fine if you’re not ready,” she said. She finished up her drink and slid off my desk; I wished she’d stayed perched up there. She was close enough I could smell her perfume and it’d been so long since I’d smelled it on her skin—
“You know, I think that girl was just trying to make you feel better.”
“What?”
“The girl that you yelled at—um—Trixie, was her name? You didn’t need to do all that.”
Where the hell had that come from? I got defensive.
“I told her I didn’t want her in here.”
“Look, she’s obviously a little sweet on you. Be nicer next time. I know you have it in you.”
There was something more in her words, but she was walking away. I didn’t want her to.
I stood up. My strides were longer than hers, and I caught her by the arm in one hand while closing the door on her in another. She jerked her arm out of my hold.
“What are you doing?”
“Stay,” I said. I took her face in my hands. “Come on. I’m sorry. What does it matter? She’s just a club girl anyway—”
She jerked out of my hold.
“She’s still a person. And considering she’d probably still come back to you if you asked her to after you treated her like a ragdoll, you should treat her a little better!”
I didn’t know where the anger came from. Why the fuck did Misha care how I treated a club girl? Why did I care how I treated a club girl? I’d never handled Trixie like she was my girl ever.
Before I could ask, Misha was jerking open the door. She turned to me, a scathing, yet very obviously hurt, look in her eyes.
“Don’t act like that in front of my daughter,” she said viciously.
Two times in less than an hour that two women had stormed out of my office. I think I needed a stiffer drink. First, though, I shot off a text to Trixie.
Message Sent – Trix: Sorry I was a dick. I’ll make it up to you.
I waited a few moments before another came in.
Message Received – Trix: You could just not be a jerk just because you feel bad.
Message Received – Trix: I don’t think I wanna fuck you anymore, anyway.
Well, that was a low blow. Before I could reply, another came in.
Message Received – Trix: Misha’s your girl and your child’s mama. It wouldn’t be right.
Message Received – Trix: You know I’m not like that.
Message Received – Trix: I know you’re not like that, too, T.
Message Received – Trix: Sorry for coming onto you.
Messages Received – Trix: You’re still my best boy though! ; )
I chuckled and shook my head, a bit dumbfounded. Women.
Yeah, I definitely needed that drink something fierce.
# # #
“Are you sure about this, Trip?”
“Sure about what, Brig?”
“You know damn well what, man.”
I sighed.
Harp, harp. That’s the only damn thing that Brig seemed to know how to do lately. We sat at the bar, drinking on beer, watching the boys and their girls and few of the town people be rowdy. I tried not to let them, but my eyes lingered on Misha and Rose, sitting not too far away from us, eating bar food. Misha’s eyes caught mine for a moment, as if she had felt me looking at her. A blush drew up on her face before she averted her eyes. I could go over there, put myself in her space—
“Trip, are you even fucking listening?”
“What?”
Brig sighed.
“Look, man. I told you after you settled her back there, something doesn’t feel right about her story—”
“What’s supposed to be right about anything that she said?”
“You know what I mean.”
I did. He’d brought it up to me when I relayed everything Misha had told me to him. Brigs and I, we were brothers like that. As far as anyone else knew, all that had happened was the Jackals took her and kept her and Rose. They didn’t get the finer details because they didn’t need the finer details.
Thing was, Brig was smart. Like, college educated smart kinda shit. Got a fancy degree and everything before deciding that he wanted something wilder. Meant that he picked up on things—holes in stories and things that didn’t make sense.
There were a few things in Misha’s story that didn’t make sense. It was only confirmed by how many times she’d tugged on her ear when she told me her story; I knew, and had always known, that that was her tell. Meant she was lying or holding something back.
But that wasn’t information for Brig. That was for me and Misha and that little girl sitting across from her.
“Brig,” I said. “If you’re gonna keep wasting my time with this bullshit, you can leave. She’s back, she’s safe, she’s happy. And I got a little girl. You’re my VP. Be fuckin’ happy for me, man.”
What could I say? I wasn’t above being a guilt-laying mother fucker.
Brig sighed. He looked over to Misha and Rose. He shook his head.
“Yeah, man, whatever. Something just don’t smell right. You keep your head up. I’m happy for you and all. But I’m not about you getting burnt again. Even if it’s Misha. Especially because it’s Misha.”
He stood and left me then, going off to play pool with Travis. I could go play with them, too, but instead I stayed at the bar, watching Misha.
She was still so fucking beautiful. She was worn, yeah. Could see it in the bags under her eyes. But she’d been taken care of … I’d give Holland that one small thing. She was full in hip and breast, hair still shiny and curly—thick. I used to run my hands through it just to feel how soft it was … used to love tugging it while we kissed and while we fucked.
Probably not the best ideas to be getting in my head. She’d just gotten back and there was something that she was keeping from me. But how many times had I envisioned the miracle of her coming back to me despite the odds of that never happening? Too fucking often. Each time I thought of her magically walking through my bar doors always ended in me taking her by that hair of hers, dragging her to my room—but we’d never make it there.
She’d moan about how she’d missed me so much, how it hadn’t been choice to leave me. It was those Jackal fucks. And I’d tell her it was fine, it didn’t matter, ’cause I had her now and she was mine.
I’d take her, rough, fast, against the wall. I’d reassure her she was mine and mine alone. And she’d cum in my arms with those sweet, soft cries of hers like I was the only man to have ever touched her like that.
Fucking filthy thoughts I had, sitting at that bar, watching the woman I loved—because, oh, I hadn’t fucking stopped, even when I thought she was dead—sit there eating with my little girl. The little girl I still hadn’t gotten the damn courage to acknowledge to her face.
I finished my beer, downing it. No. I didn’t need those thoughts in my head. I wanted the good ones, the ones that made me feel like the man I was, the man that years ago would have taken his woman, no questions asked.
I called it a night, saying bye to the boys. I avoided looking at Misha as I left. I didn’t know if I wanted her to see what I knew was in my eyes. How much I wanted her. Needed her after all this time, even though I knew she wasn’t entirely the same. I wouldn’t be able to control myself if I let her look me in the eye right now.
This woman was going to drive me fucking insane.
“Trip? Hey, Trip!”
Well, hell.
I turned, seeing Misha slip through the front door of the bar. I raised a brow at her. She looked very determined, like she was a woman on a mission. That would either bode well or ill for me. I proceeded with caution, especially after our … whatever the hell that had been in my office.
“Hey, Misha. What’s up?”
She rolled back and forth on the balls of her feet. She looked guilty. Or maybe apologetic. She was a lot better at hiding her emotions than she had been five years ago; must have been a learned thing.
“I just—I’m sorry,” she said. “For being so harsh in there. I shouldn’t have. I know this all has to be very stressful and odd for you. I still don’t think you should have treated Trixie like that—”
“I apologized to her.”
“I—oh. You did?”
“Yeah,” I said with a chuckle. “I shot her a message and everything. She’s fine. Nothing really ever fazes her for long and she forgave me. She, uh. Apologized too. Said she wasn’t gonna do it again.”
“Oh?” That seemed to puzzle her. “But you two are …”
“Not anymore. You’re back, aren’t you?
Her face heated up and she avoided my eyes then.
“Trip, you don’t have to—”
“Misha, listen.” I stepped forward, putting my hands on her shoulders. I waited until she looked at me. I needed her to look at me. Needed her to see in my face that I meant what I said. “There’s always only ever been one girl for you. That’s you. I couldn’t even think about getting it up back there even with Trixie in my lap, and she’s got a nice ass, too—”
“Okay, that’s definitely TMI, Trip—”
“Yeah, okay, but this is my point,” I said. “I apologized. She’s fine. But it’s not happening. You get me?”
“I—”
“Oi, T!”
I groaned.
“For fuck’s sake … What?” I looked back to the front of the bar, where Travis was sticking his head out. His one good eye seemed to sparkle mischievously.
“Yo. I thought you were getting your sorry ass out of here. But there’s some good shit in here with your name on it, brother, if you’re still gonna be lollygaggin’ around!”
Misha laughed as Travis disappeared back into the bar.
“Things don’t change, do they?”
“You have,” I said. “So have I.”
She frowned a little at that.
“It’s been five years, Trip—”
“So you keep saying,” I said. I didn’t know where the frustration was coming from, just that it was there. That it was hot and heady. “Misha, I don’t give a fuck—”
“Yeah, well, I do, Trip! I don’t know if you don’t seem to care or give a damn about what happened during those five years, and I’m sorry shit isn’t the same, but that’s not my fault!” She snatched herself away from me. “All I wanted to do was come out an apologize. I did that. I hope you have a good night, Trip.”
She turned on her heel and left.
I groaned. I kicked at the dirt lot outside the bar. What the hell was all that? The woman was still damn frustrating. Stubborn.
Well, that’s why you liked her in the first place, you dipshit. She was hard to get and you wanted to get her.
Getting her this go around seemed like it was going to be harder than before. How the hell was I supposed to do any of this shit? Things were more complicated. I had thought maybe with a little time … Maybe it hadn’t been enough time. It’d only taken me mere moments to want her back in my arms after seeing her again, though! And she was … she was so … Christ!
Ah. Fuck it.
I hopped on my bike, peeled off, and headed home. This sounded like something I would deal with tomorrow.
Chapter Four
Misha
Being back in town was strange. Most people who came through Ace of Pride knew my face— thought I had just run out of town like a wild child. Daddy apparently hadn’t told anyone but the Pride what had happened. Hadn’t wanted the cops involved, it seemed, as he’d trusted them less than he’d trusted his daughter to make good choices with biker boys.
Well. Daddy had always been a smart man who knew what he was talking about.
I spent my days at the bar. Things were a little boring during the day, but I would take boring over anything that the Jackals would have been doing, and I found things for Rose to do. I had packed her coloring book and crayons, as well as a couple little books that Holland had gotten her. I never let her think that man was her daddy, and hadn’t let him pretend like he was, either, but I couldn’t say he hadn’t at least tried to make her as happy as a little girl should be.
She liked the boys. She hadn’t gone a day in her young life not being around men in kuttes, drinking and swearing and doing questionable things to women in broad daylight. Oddly enough, the Pride boys were a little more put together than the Jackals; they kept that wild stuff to a minimum when I brought Rose up front. Travis taught her how to play pool, holding her up so she could reach the table. The DeVos twins tried to teach her darts, but there was something about pointy, flying things in my daughter’s hands that made me hesitant.
“We’ll teach her when she’s older,” they’d laughed in unison.
Trip was the only one that hadn’t made a real effort to get to know her, and after our fight or … whatever that had been, I didn’t know if he was half as interested in her as he should have been. Or as I’d hoped he be. It wouldn’t have been so frustrating, but even Brig, who eyed me suspiciously like he knew I had something to hide, had taken to her.
So, it was the boys, pool, and darts, that watched over my little girl, and the handful of coloring books that were almost all full of color. But pool and darts and coloring books weren’t enough for a five-year-old girl.
I sat in Trip’s room, watching her take her afternoon nap as I dug through the duffle bag that I had brought with us. It had been all that I could think to pack. Clothes for a couple weeks—now running low—the things to entertain Rose, some hygiene products—also running low— and some other things that I had thought would be good to bring at the time.
Down at the bottom, and probable the most important thing in the duffle, was a baggie, almost like the ones used for banks. It had a few hundreds in it, about thirty thousand in cash that I had been saving over the last five years between getting it from Holland, skimming the minimal I could get off Jackal profits, selling a few things here and there. It had been a miracle that I had managed to keep such a thing from Holland, and even more of one that I had managed to keep it from Rigger.
Caught up in the thought that I could use some of it to buy Rose some more clothes, maybe a few things to keep her entertained while I worked out the logistics of getting a cheap little car, something I could drive away with her, I didn’t realize the door had opened. I jumped when a hand came down on my shoulder.
“Woah, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. Packing a lot of cash in there, I see.”
I hastily piled the clothes that had been in our duffle on top of the money, and looked up at Trip.
“It’s security,” I said.
“Mm.”
He didn’t look like he believed me, but that was more his problem than mine. Before he could ask about it, I decided to ask my own question.
“I need to go into town and buy a few things for myself and Rose,” I said. “Just a few things, nothing drastic. You think I could call a cab or something?” I didn’t have my own phone to do such a thing, but I didn’t want to assume I could just use whatever was in the bar, either.
“No,” he said. I frowned.
“What—”
“Come on. I’ll drive you. Don’t have anything else to do right now anyway.”
“You don’t drive, you ride.”
“Yeah, but unless you’re buying a whole store full of girly clothes and princess playho
uses, I’m pretty sure whatever you get will fit under the seat. Come on.”
Trip left no room to argue as he slipped out of his room. I sighed, casting a look down at Rose. I followed Trip out.
“What about Rose, Trip?” I asked. He looked back at me with a somewhat puzzled look before it seemed to dawn on him.
Oh, the ease of being a new parent and being able to forget just like that.