Baby and the Biker: The Ghost Riders MC

by Savannah Rylan

  Then I headed for the front door and left. I knew what I had to do. I knew who I had to confront. I had to find the strength to tell my father I was out. That I wanted my own life apart from the destruction he caused every day. I needed to have a conversation with him and let him know that I was leaving the Ghost Rider MC.

  I just hoped he wouldn’t have me killed for it.

  I got onto my bike and pulled out my phone. I scrolled through my contacts until I found my father’s number. My thumb hovered over the call button as my heart slammed against my chest.

  This was the only way.

  This was what I had to do to keep us safe.

  “Son?”

  “Dad.”

  “You coming back to work anytime soon? Or are you fucking that little bitch that ran up onto our mechanic shop today?” he asked.

  “I took care of her,” I said.

  “‘Atta, boy. Did you tell her she’ll get hurt running up on our club like that?” he asked.

  “I told her work and pleasure never mixed, and if she found me at the shop again she’d have to deal with you.”

  “Good,” he said. “Good boy.”

  I grimaced at the nickname as I struck up my bike.

  “Listen, I gotta talk to you about something,” I said. “You up for a decent cigar?”

  “Sounds like a man’s type of talk. The cigar lounge downtown? Your mother’s driving me up a wall tonight,” my father said.

  “What’d you do now?”

  “She’s going on about dinner times or whatever. Who knows? She’s always nagging. I could use a cigar and a decent whiskey instead of crap beer and cigarettes. Your mother stocks the cheap shit.”

  “Happens when you live on the streets for years like she did.”

  “I pulled her off the streets. She doesn’t have to torture me with it.”

  “That woman loves you. Get off it,” I said.

  “Yeah, well. Sacrifices for love. We’re about to sit down to dinner. You joining us?”

  “Nope. I’ll meet you at the cigar lounge across town.”

  “You still with that play toy of yours?”

  I felt my blood beginning to boil as I finally pulled away from Reagan’s house.

  “Nope,” I said.

  “Good. No use getting hooked on a woman right now. We have work that needs to be finished. We fell behind because of your little stunt today,” he said.

  “Boo hoo. We’ll make it up.”

  “Now you’re sounding more like me. About damn time you shaped up. See you in an hour, son. And get us a bottle of the good shit for our table.”

  I hung up the phone and headed back to the shop. I promised Reagan I would get her car back to her, so I parked my bike and drove hers back to her apartment. I parked it in front of her house before catching a cab back to my car, and I had just enough time to get to the cigar lounge. I bit down on the inside of my cheek as I plotted my next moves. I knew my father wouldn’t take this well, so I had to be ready for everything.

  But first, I had to sit and keep watch.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Maddox

  I sat in the parking lot and watched for my father to pull up. I wanted to know if he was coming alone or if he was bringing people with him. If he was bringing reinforcements, it wouldn’t be the time to take this up with him. It meant he suspected I was about to make a move like this. Which meant I could possibly end up like the minced meats he dumped into the river from time to time.

  But when I saw his bike pull up, he was alone. No one pulled in behind him and no one got out of cars or bikes to meet him. He leaned against his bike, lighting a cigarette to take a long pull. His sleeves were rolled up and his white hair was unruly and out of place.

  And there were light blood stains on his pants.

  It made me sick to look at him. To know what he had done prior to our meet up. Dinner, my ass. He wasn’t at dinner with Mom. He had ditched her again to do some bullshit dirty work. Beating up some other gangster because they either didn’t follow through on what they were supposed to sell, or they hadn’t paid up themselves.

  He got off on that shit.

  Fuck, I needed out of this lifestyle.

  I stepped away from my bike and headed into the cigar lounge. I got us a table in the corner, with dim lights and both of our backs to the wall. My father enjoyed surveying the lounge without having to worry about someone creeping up behind him. Attacking him from behind or slitting his throat while he was enjoying his bourbon.

  “Two bourbons, please. And two aged Cubans for the table.”

  “Glad to see something stuck from your childhood,” my father said smiling as he walked up to the table.

  “Can’t turn down a good glass of bourbon after a rough day,” I said.

  “You don’t know the first thing about rough. But you will once I’m gone.”

  My father sat down beside me as the hostess left to get us what I had requested. He wreaked of fear and sweat. I wanted to call him out on it. Ask him what poor fucking soul had his teeth ripped away from him tonight. But it wasn’t worth the small talk.

  I needed to get down to business of my own.

  “Tonight’s on me,” I said.

  “Manning up. Looks good on you, son.”

  “Yeah well. I’m about to man up some more. And you’re not gonna like it,” I said.

  “Try me. ‘Bout damn time you put on those big boy britches.”

  “I want out,” I said.

  The woman set two cigars, a cigar cutter, and our drinks down at the table. My father’s eyes panned towards me, locking onto my face. I reached for my cigar and lit it, then hung it between my teeth as I reached for my drink. Looking him in his eyes meant he would be able to see the fear coursing through my veins.

  Which meant the only other approach I had was nonchalance.

  “You still breathing?” I asked.

  “Look at me,” my father said.

  “I don’t have to look at you for you to hear me.”

  “Look at me, boy.”

  “From ‘son’ to ‘boy’ in just under a minute. I think that’s a new record.”

  “I ain’t givin’ you the fuckin’ time of day until you look at me,” he said.

  I took a puff of my cigar and blew it right at my father. A strong front was the only way to approach him, though I was fucking trembling in my chair. My eyes connected with his and he sized me up. He took me in as he raked his eyes up and down my form. I gripped my drink and laid back into my chair, tossing my arm over it. I plucked my cigar from my lips and blew another puff of smoke into the air, waiting for my father to say something.

  Anything.

  Because talking meant he wasn’t drawing his weapon.

  He never did those two activities at the same time.

  “You’re being foolish,” he said.

  “I’m not.”

  “You don’t leave this lifestyle. It’s family. And you can’t leave family,” he said.

  “Well I can, and I will,” I said.

  “I built this for you, boy. This club has been passed down to me and I am going to pass it down to you. You think you can walk away from that? From every drop of blood spilled to get you to this place?” he asked.

  “I didn’t ask for that blood to be spilled. Not my problem. This isn’t the life for me and I won’t take it. You have several other guys in the MC that I am sure will happily take my place. You wanna waste your life beating people’s faces in and disappointing the woman in your life, that’s on you. But that isn’t the life I want and it isn’t the life I’m going to live.”

  “Did you fall and hit your head today?” he asked.

  “No, but I did see the blood splatter on your pants when you got off your bike. You weren’t at dinner with Mom. Probably called and said you had to work late again. Where’d you dump the body this time? The river’s starting to look a little murky.”

  “You shut your mouth in public,” he said.

&n
bsp; “Or what? You’ll get caught? You’re walking around with bloodied pants, Dad. Even you don’t give a shit anymore. And you think I’m supposed to?”

  My father picked up his bourbon and threw the entire thing back. His eyes were darting around the place, wondering if anyone could hear our conversation. But I knew no one was listening. Everyone in the place was already too drunk or too sick from their too strong cigars to give a shit about what we were doing.

  “I won’t hear of it,” my father said.

  “You can’t control my actions,” I said.

  “If you really think that, then you haven’t been paying attention all these years. I control everything, son. Your life. Your mother’s life. The life of this club. The port office. The customs office. The police. They’re all under my control. And if you want out, you don’t leave unless you get my explicit permission. And no one has ever left. This will be yours someday. That is your legacy. Find a way to man up and get used to it, because that isn’t changing. I worked too damn hard and compromised too many morals of my own to keep this alive for you, and I won’t have an ungrateful son throwing it in my face because he doesn’t like the sight of blood on my jeans.”

  I clenched my jaw and watched my father take a long pull of his cigar. He leaned back into his chair and crossed his knee over his leg. I set my cigar down into the ashtray and downed the rest of my bourbon, then I got up to head to the bathroom.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” my father asked.

  “To take a shit. Wanna come watch?” I asked.

  I turned my back on him and headed to the bathroom. And when I was sure no one was following me, I pulled out my cell phone. I toggled through my contacts until I got to Parker, then I hit the dial button and waited.

  If my father wasn’t going to let me out, then I was cashing in every single favor I was owed.

  “What?” Parker asked.

  “I see you’re having as good of a night as me,” I said.

  “The hell do you want?” he asked.

  “Were you screwing someone? I think you were screwing someone.”

  “Can you get on with it so I can get back to it?” he asked.

  “It’s time,” I said.

  I heard shuffling on the other end before a woman’s voice was heard. Parker was shushing her. Probably letting her suck on his cock while he stood there on the phone with me to keep her content.

  He always found the freakiest women on this planet.

  “I’m listening,” Parker said.

  “I’m done,” I said. “And I’m cashing in every favor I’m owed.”

  “Got a reason for getting out?” he asked.

  “I do. And it’s a good one. But I’m not talking about it, and it’s not information you need to help me.”

  “Fine. Let me get through tonight and we’ll talk,” he said.

  “Breakfast at my place?”

  “Make it lunch. I’ve already got plans for breakfast,” he said.

  I hung up the phone and waited a few minutes before I flushed the toilet.

  Parker owed me for helping get his sister get out of harm’s way a couple of years ago. When I had overheard my father saying that she was asking too many questions for a sister of someone in the club, I let Parker know. I calmed my father down and distracted him while Parker got Nova and her new husband out of town. The next day Nova and her husband were gone and no one had any idea where they went, including my dad.

  I walked back out to where my dad was sitting and he was already sucking on my damn cigar. I sat down and had the hostess fill up my bourbon, and I sipped on it as my father blew smoke in my fucking face.

  “Nice shit?” he asked.

  “The best,” I said.

  “You got any plans for tonight?”

  “I’ll find some,” I said.

  “Your mother wants you to stop by.”

  “And you know this because you were eating dinner with her?”

  “I know this because every time we talk she asks about you. Call your damn mother. She almost killed herself bringing you into this world.”

  It wouldn’t matter anyway. Once Parker and I met up to set plans in motion, I would never see her again. Reagan and I would have to run. New identities. New jobs. A new country to live in with people who had no idea who we really were. I would have to make them good identities. A good home. A good country with good people where we could make a beautiful life for our family.

  Because running meant her never seeing her family again, either.

  “Dinner tomorrow night?” I asked.

  “I’ll tell her you’re stopping by,” my father said.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “What?”

  “Didn’t you ever want something else for your life?”

  “The hell’s that got to do with anything?” he asked.

  “Didn’t you ever want to be a fireman? Or an astronaut? Or a cowboy? Or did my grandfather force this on you as well?”

  I watched my father stare off into the smoke-covered room and I saw something change in him. The grimace he had on his face softened and his stoic eyes came alive with hurt. I saw his body slump further into the chair as he un-crossed his legs. He tucked his hands underneath his armpits as my cigar hung from his lips.

  The look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said as he quickly tried to hide it. “I’m a successful man with a family I can be proud of. I would’ve never had that had I not listened to my father.”

  But for some reason, I knew he was lying. I didn’t know how and I didn’t know why, but I knew it wasn’t the truth. I sat there, wondering what my father wanted to be. He was an intelligent man. Maybe a teacher? Or a professor? He was always talking about our family lineage and where he had come from and to always remember what our ancestors had done to get us to America.

  Maybe he would’ve been a historian? Or an archaeologist?

  I knew then and there I would do whatever it took to get out. I would take Reagan and our child wherever was necessary to get us out of this life. I wasn’t going to be reduced to a shell of a man because of tradition, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to spend the rest of my life selling weapons to people that turned around and killed us with them.

  I patted my dad on the shoulder as I pulled out my wallet. I threw a couple of hundred-dollar bills on the table, then walked past him and left. He was still sitting inside when I got out to my bike, seemingly trapped inside his own mind. But I didn’t care. He had chosen his path. He bent to the will of his father instead of fighting to exercise his own.

  And I sure as hell wasn’t going to be another casualty in this invisible familial war.

  I was getting Reagan and I out of here. I was going to live the life I wanted.

  Even if it meant leaving everyone behind.

  Even if it meant never seeing my mother again.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Reagan

  I was running around my apartment, trying to clean up as much as I could. Maddox was coming over with dinner so we could talk and I wanted things to look okay. A nervous tick of mine had always been to clean when I got anxious. And the thought of Maddox and I discussing what would happen next had nearly sent me into an anxiety attack.

  I was scrubbing down my bathroom as my stomach began to turn. I took a moment to sit down and take deep breaths, and it reminded me of why this was all happening. I was pregnant with Maddox’s child, and he was coming over so we could talk about things. Get to know one another better. See if we could make something like this work.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about things yet. I had finally started getting excited about having a child, but I was nervous about having it with a man I barely knew. A man that, up until I had tracked him down on my own, was dodging me. For months. Was he wanting to stick around for the baby? Would he care for our child without caring about me? Was that something I would be able to handle?

  I enj
oyed spending time with Maddox, even after being dodged by him.

  Would he ever enjoy being around me again?

  Did he ever to begin with?

  I looked at the clock and realized I had to start getting ready. I hopped into the shower and washed myself down, trying to rid myself of the lemon cleaner smell I had on my skin. The steam wafted up my body as I washed my hair, and I wondered what Maddox would be bringing for dinner. My nausea was finally gone and I felt okay to eat, but I still wasn’t sure if I could handle anything heavy.

  I dressed in a pair of jeans and a nice blouse. Eating dinner in didn’t require me to dress up, and I wanted to make sure Maddox knew what he was getting himself into. I wouldn’t be dolled up every time he came over to see me. Some days I would be in work clothes and some days I would be in jeans and a t-shirt. I decided to take the middle road and put on one of my work blouses, then covered my feet in fuzzy socks.

  My feet had been very cold lately.

  A knock came at the door and I rushed to open it. And Maddox was standing there, with a bag of food at his side and a beautiful bouquet of flowers in the other. I gasped at them, taking them from the crook of his arm and brought them to my nose.

  They were the most amazing flowers I had ever smelled.

  “Could I come in?” he asked.

  “Oh yes. Sorry. Let me go put these in some water,” I said.

  I walked into my kitchen as Maddox followed me. My house wasn’t the biggest, but it served the purpose I wanted it to serve. I grabbed a vase from one of my cabinets and filled it with water, then angled the stems with a pair of scissors before dropping them in. I set them in the windowsill so they could catch the last rays of light the day had to offer, and it case a beautiful array of colors all around my kitchen.

  “They’re beautiful, Maddox. Thank you,” I said.

  “Only the best for the best,” he said.

  “What’s for dinner?” I asked.

  “I wasn’t sure how you would be feeling, so I got you a few things. There’s a steak dinner, medium rare with broccoli and fries. There’s a bowl of soup and some crackers. Then there’s a Caesar salad with the dressing on the side.”

  “Wow. You could’ve called instead of spending all that money,” I said.