Rock Hard_A Motorcycle Club Romance_The Beasts MC

by Zoey Parker

  What would she do if she were pregnant? She quickly did the math in her head. By the time graduation rolled around she’d be around twenty-eight weeks. The average human pregnancy was between thirty-seven and forty weeks. If she managed to graduate, she could give birth and defer her loans for the few years of her non-collegiate life so she could take care of the baby. The money from her father’s passing would help. The house was paid off. She might have to get a part-time job after a while, but Hannah could probably help with that. That woman knew people.

  Kellan’s face swam up in her mind. How would he feel about having a kid? Well, she knew he wouldn’t be happy about it. Would he be mad at her? Would he think she got pregnant on purpose? Maybe she wouldn’t tell him. That seemed like the best idea. She didn’t want him feeling like he had to participate.

  Not telling him was wrong. If there were a child, he helped make it. Kellan had every right to know his kid. She imagined what it would be like to tell him. At first the daydream involved him sweeping her up into his arms, kissing her, and telling her everything was great. She knew that was bull. The daydream broke down piece by piece. His smile became a sneer of resentment, he yelled at her, called her names, and made huge accusations.

  Neither of those seemed right, but her brain wasn’t willing to come up with anything else.

  “Lots of help you are,” she said to her imagination.

  The doorbell rang.

  She sighed. It was probably Kellan. He had probably gotten home and saw that his dog was nowhere to be found, and neither was Emma. She glanced at the timer on her cell phone. She had two minutes left until the reading was ready. With an expert finger she flicked the timer into standby. Her hand, still wet from washing it, fumbled and her phone clattered behind the toilet.

  “Shoot.”

  She thought about going for it when the doorbell went off again.

  “Fine, fine, whatever,” Emma muttered. She opened the bathroom door.

  Rocco was scratching at the back door. She let him in and he went scampering for the front. The bell rang for a third time. Someone was pissy.

  “I don’t care if it is Kellan,” she said petulantly. “He’s not getting any pizza.”

  Rocco howled. He snuffed at the front door, and then he growled. Emma stopped with her hand on the doorknob. She took a moment to look through the peephole. Gabriel stood on the doorstep, his creepy brother stood behind him to the left, another man she didn’t recognize stood to the right. She clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out.

  “Hey, gringa.” Gabriel’s voice came through the door. The wood didn’t seem as thick or as safe as it should have. “Open up, let us in. We don’t have to make this too difficult.”

  Why were they here? Her father was dead. She had nothing to do with whatever had happened between them. Did that really matter right this moment?

  Emma took a step away from the door. She tried to be as quiet as possible. A dull part of her hoped they would just leave if they thought she wasn’t there.

  “Come on, baby.” Michael said. He made loud kissing sounds. “I wanna show you a good time.”

  “We know you are in there. We saw that big ol’ car of yours pull up. Did you think hiding it in the garage was going to help you?”

  She had, actually. She hadn’t expected that someone was watching the place. It had been weeks since anyone was here. Emma still kept her mouth closed. She took another slow step away. Rocco barked.

  “Fine,” Gabriel called. “Have it your way, white bitch.” A loud thunk followed the words. The sound of a boot hitting the door. She saw the wood buckle, heard a small crack. It might make it through a second kick; it wasn’t going to make it through a third.

  She scooped up Rocco and started to run. She had made it two steps when the frame gave and the door blasted inwards. She kept running. Her only thought was to get to her phone, call the police. Where had she left it? She scrambled for the kitchen. Her purse was in there.

  Rocco squirmed in her grasp, and slipped through her arms. She felt a hand wrap over her elbow. Martial arts training had her twisting and jerking her arm down and out of the assailant’s reach. She scrambled for her purse. She heard a man cry out, and then the sound of a boot hitting flesh.

  Rocco’s cry was one of pain, high-pitched and confused. She whirled.

  “Leave my dog alone!”

  Gabriel and Michael were standing on either side of the island that separated the kitchen from the rest of her house. Gabriel looked cold, angry, and calculating. His brother’s mouth hung open with the slack look of someone who was really enjoying himself. He scooped up the dog and took one of the legs into his hand. He twisted. The particular wooden sound of bone cracking mingled with the pained cries of the dog. Michael licked his lips.

  “Stop it!”

  Michael’s eyes were alight as he grabbed the mutt by the nape of the neck.

  “Come with us, and he’ll leave the dog alone,” Gabriel offered. “Make it easy.”

  Emma watched Michael take another leg. She winced in sympathy. “All right, all right, just let me take care of him.”

  Gabriel shook his head. “We don’t have time for that. Someone’s probably already called the cops, a white neighborhood like this? They’ll be here as soon as possible. No matter that your dad was a criminal.”

  Emma didn’t know what to say to that. “Can I bring my medicine?”

  “What medicine?”

  She thought up a lie as quickly as the words left her mouth. “I have a heart condition. I need medicine.”

  He seemed to think about it. “Where is it?”

  She wondered what it meant that he was going to let her take imaginary medication. Did that mean he wanted to keep her alive for a while? Was that a good thing? She looked over at Michael, with his bright eyes and wet lips. She wasn’t sure that being alive was ultimately a good thing.

  “In the bathroom.”

  “Miguel can get it.”

  She shook her head. “There are a lot of prescriptions. My dad was dying, remember? If you really want to be out of here before the cops, I’ll need to grab it.”

  Miguel smirked. “Yeah, daddy went and killed himself with cigars before I could do it with my gun. Shame. All right, Miguel, go with the girl. Michael, you hold onto the dog. If she tries anything stupid, kill it.”

  Michael made a small sound that made Emma’s stomach feel queasy. She shuddered. She took one careful step towards Gabriel, and then another, until she was walking around him. He made no move to stop her. Miguel, the other man, was waiting for her near the hallway when she made it out of the kitchen.

  She opened the medicine cabinet. Her fingers shook as she looked through the bottles. No one had bothered cleaning these out.

  “What’s that?” Miguel asked, looking at the plastic stick sitting on the counter.

  Emma didn’t see a reason to lie. Wasn’t there something in Catholicism that said that life was sacred? Maybe they wouldn’t hurt her. Then again, they did shoot people, so maybe they didn’t stick to close to the tenants of the faith. “Pregnancy test.”

  “You pregnant.”

  “Don’t know yet.”

  He eyed the stick. “You want to know?”

  She nodded, her hands going still on the medication.

  “Then look.”

  She picked up the test and glanced at the symbol glaring out of the little plastic window.

  “Well?”

  “Nope,” she tossed it into the garbage can. “Not pregnant.”

  “Maybe next time.”

  It was possibly the weirdest conversation she had ever had. “Yeah, maybe next time.”

  There were about twelve or so orange bottles lined up on the medicine cabinet shelf. She glanced over each one in turn, and found the one with the most worn label. Her father’s name was invisible. She held it up for Miguel to see, and then made to tuck it in her pocket. Her fingers dipped and the prescription clattered to the ground, followin
g a path similar to that of her dropped cell.

  “Shoot.”

  Miguel looked frustrated. “Hurry up.”

  “Okay,” she said, holding up her hands, trying to look as innocent as possible. “Not a problem.”

  She bent, sure to point her ass in his general direction. There was every possibility that he’d look at that before watching her swipe the bottle and her phone. She tucked the cell between her breasts and stood up, holding up the bottle. “Success.”

  “Come on.” He grabbed her wrist and hauled her after him. She put up only the most minimal of fights.

  “Let’s go,” Gabriel ordered.

  “Where are we going?” Emma asked.

  “My place.”

  “I don’t know where that is.”

  He pulled a black bag out of his back pocket. “And you won’t.”

  Emma hadn’t known what to expect, but it hadn’t been that. She didn’t know why the idea of being tucked into that dark bag for an indeterminate amount of time made her shiver, but it did.

  “Can…can I help the dog?”

  “No,” Gabriel said. He made a motion to Michael. “Kill the dog, let’s go.”

  “No!” She was diving for Rocco before she knew what she was doing. Miguel wrapped an arm around her middle and hauled her back. She struggled until the two of them fell to the floor. “Don’t!”

  Michael’s hands wrapped around the mutt’s thick throat. Rocco kicked out with his back feet, struggling to get away from his killer. He wasn’t watching the dog, though. He was watching her. She looked up into his face. His dark eyes were bright. They had that soft light that a man got when he was looking at something he wanted, something he loved. She saw his tendons strain as Rocco tried to bark through the ever tightening grasp.

  “Please, please stop,” she begged.

  No one said anything to her. Rocco kept kicking, kept shaking his head. He kicked and struggled. His back leg caught Michael across the arm, and down the side. Michael cursed in his native tongue and threw Rocco across the room. Rocco fell against the ground, and didn’t move.

  “No!” she screamed. She struggled to get to the ugly mutt. She wanted to check him, to help him. Miguel grabbed her and she kicked out. Her bare foot caught him across the face. She felt his nose crunch beneath her heel. He growled.

  A hand wrapped in her hair and yanked her back. She looked up and up and into Gabriel’s dark eyes. They were oddly beautiful. They weren’t just brown. They were the color of whiskey and copper and earth. They were tucked into a strikingly angular face with high cheekbones and full lips. In another time, another place, he might have been handsome, but his features were contorted with his cold anger. He just looked hard.

  “Stop it.” It wasn’t a request. He shook her hair. Her roots burned. She felt some of the strands rip beneath his palm. “Stop moving or I’ll shoot you right here.”

  She didn’t listen. Her body fought against his hold. She reached up and grabbed his elbow, raking her nails down his wrist. He snarled and slammed her head forward. Her head rang with the impact of her brow against the ground.

  At that moment her cell phone went off. The screen light up inside of her blouse followed by a cheerful trill.

  All three men went still.

  Gabriel jammed his hand inside her shirt. He didn’t grope her. His anger was well past perversion. He held up the screen. She caught a brief glimpse of Rudy’s name. She didn’t fight anymore.

  “Load her into the car.”

  They tucked her in the backseat, and then into the black bag. She slumped in her spot. Someone put the seatbelt on her. It almost made her laugh. They were willing to invade her house, hurt her dog, and beat her up, but going around without a seatbelt was just too holy of a law to break. She snorted inside the pitch blackness of her hood.

  “What’s so funny, bitch?” It must have been Miguel who asked. The rhythm of his words sounded a little off because of the broken nose.

  “Why do I need a seatbelt?” she asked.

  “Gotta protect the merchandise.” It was Michael this time. She knew the voice. A hand patted her thigh, lingering on her hip.

  She shivered.

  Gabriel said something in Spanish. Michael responded. It sounded like he was whining about something. Gabriel gave him an order and the hand lifted away from her hip. Apparently she wasn’t going to be sexually assaulted in the back of the car just yet.

  It was a very small comfort. Right this moment, she’d take it.

  Chapter 14

  The cops and the fire department were at Mac Ketchum’s old place when Kellan’s bike came roaring up the street. Had he been thinking straight he would have turned around as soon as he saw the flashing lights. But he wasn’t, and he didn’t. He was already parked and charging across the perimeter of uniformed bodies when strong arms hauled him backwards.

  The house was on fire. Big clouds of dark smoke filled the air.

  “Emma!” he screamed out. “Emma!’

  “Sir!” someone repeated with the determination and authority of a police officer pig.

  He whirled towards the voice. “What?” he snarled.

  “Is this your house?” The police officer was tall and well built, but it wasn’t the person holding him. Kellan turned again and found himself facing Rudy, who still had a firm hold on his shoulder.

  “Let me go, man.” Kellan shoved against Rudy.

  “No,” Rudy said. “You can’t do anything, Kellan. You gotta let them work. You gotta let them do something.”

  He shook his head. He didn’t want to let them do their job. He wanted to find Emma. Was she in there? Was she dead? “I gotta help Emma.”

  “You can’t.” Rudy gave him a shake. “Kellan, listen to me, you can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Look around you!”

  Kellan blinked and tried to take in his surroundings. His breath felt too loud in his ears. A half dozen firemen were waiving hoses across the roof of the house. The water seemed to evaporate before it hit anything. As many police officers were wandering around the lawn. A few were talking to a couple that Kellan recognized as neighbors. They were motioning towards the house, and then towards the road.

  “Sir,” the officer repeated. One of his hands was resting causally near his sidearm. It made Kellan angrier. The officer’s eyes weren’t on Kellan’s face, but resting on his vest and the patches that it sported. “Is this your house?”

  “No,” he snapped out. “It’s my wife’s house.”

  The word felt strange on his tongue. He didn’t think he’d ever called Emma that. They had been married for a month and going to bed together for the better part of that. He should have called her wife before now. He should have said a hundred other things too. What if she was dead? What if he never got to tell her?

  “You don’t live with your wife?”

  “It was her father’s place. He died a few weeks ago from cancer. It’s hers now,” Rudy explained.

  “Was she here?”

  Kellan shook his head. “I don’t know. I think so. We got into a fight.”

  “What did you get into a fight over?” He plucked a pad of paper and a pen from his front pocket.

  Kellan became aware of the fact that this was a cop, and everything that was said and done could be used in a court of law. He was pretty sure you didn’t go to jail for a house catching on fire, but he didn’t think it couldn’t be used against him somehow. Kellan wanted to ask why that mattered, why any of it mattered. He didn’t. “Having kids.” It was close enough to the truth.

  The officer nodded in mock sympathy. Kellan wanted to hit him. Only Rudy’s cool hand on his shoulder kept him from doing just that.

  “So you guys fought, she left, and you think she came here?”

  “I left,” Kellan corrected. “I was mad so I left. I didn’t want to talk to her anymore. I don’t know where she went or what she did. I haven’t talked to her since the fight.”

  “Does she make
a habit of running out when you guys fight?”

  Kellan swept a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I…we’ve only been married a month.”

  “Already fighting?” The officer’s eyes stayed level on Kellan.

  “What the hell does it matter? Is she in there?”

  “We don’t know yet.”

  There was a commotion. Raised voices. Kellan charged towards them. He dimly heard “alive” and “injured.” A fireman, dressed in the bright yellow suit, came out of the front door. In the curve of his arms was a dark mutt with a big head.