Bloodlines: Sin City Outlaws (Book #5)

by Forgy, M. N.

  “Get. Out!” I repeat, pointing toward the door.

  She steps around the corner, her heels clicking to the rhythm of my heart. If I wasn’t pregnant, I would tear this woman apart.

  Feet from me, the smell of her perfume makes me hold my breath. Downfall of being pregnant is I smell everything.

  “What’s your name?” Her long thick lashes flick with a threat.

  I lift my chin, my nostrils flaring.

  “You think Mac and you have something special?” Her eyes fall to my belly. She thinks it’s Mac’s. “Don’t kid yourself. He belongs to me, I have his pierced dick in such a vise that if he tries to fuck me over… I’ll expose the club.”

  She pokes her sharp fingernail into my belly, and I slap her across the face. Nobody fucking touches me.

  Her head whips to the side, her cheek blooming red with my handprint.

  Eerily slow, she faces me. Her lips rolling.

  “Get out, or I swear to God, I will kill you with my bare hands.”

  “Are you threatening me? I will throw you in a cell until you give birth to that little shit. In fact, I’ll have that child in foster care before you can get your fat ass off the birthing table.”

  I don’t respond, I can’t. My shoulders lifting and rising with my heavy breathing. She’s working me up to the point I can barely breathe.

  I want to hit her, really hurt her but I can’t move from the anger driving through my veins.

  “Give Mac my best, hmm?” Turning around, she leaves, slamming the door behind her.

  I gasp, relief flooding over me. Grabbing onto the counter, I slink into the barstool trying to catch my breath.

  A sharp pain strikes across my stomach, and I whimper. I inhale a controlled breath, trying to calm myself but it’s not working. Easing out of the stool, I waddle to Mac’s bathroom. He has a tub, and maybe a warm relaxing bath will soothe my Braxton Hicks. Leaning over the rim of the porcelain tub, I turn on the faucet, and undress. Trying to remember to breathe slowly and at my control the whole time. That bitch got me so worked up, I pray I’m not going into real labor.

  “Stay in there, baby.” I rub my stomach.

  The water line halfway fills the tub and I step in, my hands holding my belly as I settle in. Water sloshes over the sides and I make a mental note to make sure I clean it up later.

  I rub my stomach, my eyes closed, breathing through my nose.

  Who was that bitch? Is she Mac’s girlfriend? She obviously didn’t know about me.

  Moaning, I force that cop cunt out of my mind. Names, think of baby names.

  My mind drifts into names starting with E, the woman in the blue pantsuit slowly forgotten. For now.

  “See, everything’s okay. Calm down little girl,” I tell my baby.

  19

  Mac

  Sitting at the club table, we discuss usual shit. Where to pick up merchandise, who owes us money, and where retaliation is needed.

  Zeek looks my way, resting his head on his knuckles.

  “Still no word on this Veer guy, I have every club in the area looking for him too.”

  I nod. My arm stretched out along the table picking at a piece of splintered wood. I try not to seem intrigued in what he’s saying. Last thing I need is the boys busting my balls any more than they have, but I’m paranoid as fuck knowing this shit stain is out there somewhere.

  “When the boys dropped by Simone’s place, we were informed the father was found dead with a bullet to the back of the head, and we still haven’t found the mother,” Zeek’s tone grim.

  “You think the mother did it?” Machete from the end of the table. His reddish hair is slicked back again, and he’s leaning over the table with a hand strangling a beer.

  “Don’t know.” Zeek shrugs.

  I sigh, knowing none of this is good news. None of which I want to tell Simone either.

  Zeek slams the gavel down, ending the meeting. I crack my neck and step outside of the clubhouse. This Veer guy has me wound up tight. He could be around any corner, in any shadow.

  He’s good at hiding. Staring across the street, I notice a giant ad lit up on the wall of a Barnes and Noble quick store. The newest Nook spinning in the window, showcasing its newest features. Simone could really use that, it’d be better than carrying around a bunch of torn up books.

  Maybe I should get her one. Wait, they have apps for book shit now I’ll just set her up on that.

  Machete steps up next to me, practically shadowing me he’s so much bigger. He’s like a fucking monster.

  He pats me on the back, and I raise a brow at him.

  “It’s going to be ok. All of us have come to this point.” He nods, but I’m clueless as what he’s going on about.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I shrug.

  “Simone.” Her name slips from his mouth in a way that has me tense, like I should be the only one to say her name. I stare ahead, not playing into his games. “Life has a way of working itself out just when you start to think it never will, brother. Your lady is the path to foolishness, but that’s when the fun begins,” he winks.

  “She’s not my lady,” I clarify, not yet anyway. He chuckles as if I’m clueless.

  “The hardest ones are the sweetest, aren’t they?” His eyes gleam like an animal in the night, and he saunters off into the dark alley.

  For an animal, he’s fucking smart. Simone’s the most complicated, most teasing woman I’ve met. If I’m catching on to what Machete is saying, she’ll be worth it. He’s probably talking from experience. His ol’ lady, Raven, was a hellcat before they both gave into each other’s advances.

  Finishing my cigarette, I flick it into the wind, slide my tongue across my teeth and head into the casino. The sound of machines clinging and chiming in the background as I make my way up to the suite. As soon as the elevator doors open, Rooster is missing, and my hands roll into fists. He better not be inside, I’ll kill him.

  Pushing the door open, the lights are turned off, and I don’t see Simone anywhere. My mind jumps from Rooster and Veer, worried one of them did something. Glancing in her room, she’s not in there either.

  “Simone?”

  “In here!” Her voice carries from my room. Quickly I head in there, the sound of water splashing, I glance into the bathroom and see her in the tub. Naked. I turn my head quickly, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

  “Are you okay? Where’s Rooster?”

  “Um, just some Braxton Hicks. Maybe?” Her voice strains. Uncaring of being a gentleman, I turn toward her, my face pinched in concern. I’ve read some of the books I got her and know Braxton Hicks is the body preparing itself for labor.

  “Shit, do you need anything?”

  “No,” she breathes heavily. Her face scrunches with pain, and I grit my teeth trying not to panic.

  “Should I call Doc? What do I do for fucking Braxton Hicks?”

  “No, I think it’s easing up.”

  Sliding to the floor, my back pressed to the tub, I try and think of something to get her mind off her pain.

  “Do you like sports?”

  “What?” she snaps out of breath.

  “Sports? Do you watch any?”

  “Mac,” she says my name with irritation.

  “My dad was a piece of shit, but Super Bowl Sunday was the one day a year he played the part of a father.”

  She quiets, and I replay the memories of sitting on the torn plaid couch, the big old TV that seemed to always lack signal right when our team would land a touchdown. Dad would cheer and wrap his arms around me like I meant something to him. It’s the only childhood memory I cling to.

  “What was your favorite team?” she asks. I knew I could hook her with talking about myself. For some reason, she’s thirsty for knowledge about everything that I am. I’m not sure what to think about that.

  I chuckle, my head lowering with embarrassment.

  “The Cowboys are my favorite. They haven’t been to the Super Bowl in
years, but they will have their comeback. You just wait.” My head turns slightly so I can see her beautiful eyes.

  “If I have a kid one day. They will be a football fan.”

  She smiles, her hands sliding down over her belly.

  “You’ll have to teach us one day.” Her sentence is an invitation to stick around after all this is over.

  My chest constricts with an unbearable ache. Will I be around after she has this kid? Do I want to be? My dad’s voice roars in the back of my head repeating how I’m a piece of shit, and I’m only good for killing genuine people. My mother.

  I’m not any good for Simone and this baby. I’m really not, but I’m selfish and starting not to care.

  “How are you doing?” I change the subject, needing this to go anywhere else.

  “Better.” She blows out a steady breath and sits up. Water sloshing over the rim of the porcelain. “Yeah, can you help me get out though, the water is starting to cool, and I feel like a beached whale.” Her tone is off, little frown lines sketching around her face.

  Holding my hand out to help her up, her wet hand slips into mine and my dick stirs in my pants. She’s so soft and smells like wildflowers from the bubbles covering her skin. I want so badly to look her over, see her wet sultry body. Are her nipples hard? Does she have a little patch of pubic hair?

  My eyes focus on the floor and not her. Out of my peripheral vision, she stands on her own two feet, so I snatch a towel from the rack and hold it out for her. Looking at the wall as she climbs out of the tub, wet fingers slide along mine as she takes the towel.

  “Thanks,” she mutters.

  “Let’s get you to bed, off your feet.” I press along the small of her back. Ushering her to her room.

  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I text Rooster, curious where the fuck he is while Simone dresses.

  “Do you need any help with clothes or something?” I’m terrible at this. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable with my hovering, but I also don’t want to be a dick that stands back as she struggles. I need her to meet me in the fucking middle or something.

  “Do you mind if I wear one of your shirts?” Silence fills between us as she waits for me to reply. Wearing my shirt seems simple enough. But it has me wonder why she wants it. Wearing shirts is relationship type shit, right? “They fit better is all,” she clarifies. I’m not sure if I’m relieved it’s for that reason or pissed it’s not for amorous reasons.

  “Yeah, let me go get one,” I finally agree.

  Heading to my closet, I glance at my phone, nothing back from Rooster yet and it pisses me off. I could track him, see where the fuck he went and then go find him and make him eat gravel.

  My head falls back. See, it’s thinking like that, that has me wondering where the fuck my head is. Yeah, I want to hurt Rooster for fucking disappearing, but it’s laced with emotion and not because he broke brotherly code.

  Staring at the bedroom door, my chest squeezes. Simone, I can’t tell if you’re breaking me or fixing me.

  Simone

  After dressing in one of Mac’s shirts, and a clean pair of pink panties I lay on the bed and cover up with blankets. My hair wet and dampening the pillow under me.

  “Dressed?” Mac asks, his knuckles tapping the door. My gentleman biker.

  “Yeah.”

  Walking in, Mac’s usual smoldering eyes have concern freckled in the irises. He sits on the side of the bed, the mattress dipping from his body and rests his hand next to my thigh. Looking at his hand, two of his fingers display large rings, and I get the sudden urge to hold his hand. Needing the contact, to feel if it’s soft, or sweaty. Will his fingers interlock perfectly with mine, or will his hand be much larger?

  When he’s near me I feel. I feel like I’m home for the first time in a long time.

  Wings that were carved into the flesh of my back unwrapped the day despair fell upon my shoulders. I lost everything in a matter of months. Instead of cowering in fear, I flew and I’m finding where I belong. My flock of butterflies may be of the darkest of colors, but I wouldn’t trade them in for the brightest of wings.

  “Why do I feel like something happened here tonight?”

  I swallow, glancing up at him. It’s scary he can read into my feelings so well.

  “A cop showed up here,” I begin to explain, and his shoulders tense. “She was tall and dressed in a pantsuit. She acted as if you two were a thing.” I shake my head remembering how angry she was when she saw my stomach. “She threatened me and the baby and told me to let you know she stopped by.”

  Mac stands, his face red and shoulders rising and falling with his heavy breathing.

  “Why would you open the door for her?”

  I scoff. “Are you serious?”

  “You shouldn’t have opened the door, or you should have called me or something!” His voice rises.

  “I’m sorry, I was busy trying not to have a baby on the floor!” I snap back.

  He turns, pacing the room. His hands running through his hair back and forth.

  “Does your club know you fuck a cop?” I can’t contain the jealousy dripping in my voice.

  Mac turns, his face unreadable.

  “My club has a different view on the way we see law enforcement. You wouldn’t understand,” he mutters. Obviously not, their president’s ol’ lady is a damn sheriff.

  I laugh, looking at my fingers. “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.” I know exactly what he’s talking about. He’s screwing this girl to keep her on the side of the Outlaws.

  “Well, you better go run after her before the damsel in distress gets a warrant for the club or something.” I sound jealous, but I can’t help it.

  His brows pinch together, his burning forest eyes narrowing in on me.

  “You think I want her. That I give two shits that she’s hurt?”

  “Do you care if you hurt anyone?”

  Mac turns his head to the side. “Why do I get the impression you’re talking about yourself?” His eyes hooded, his hand rubbing the scruff on his cheeks, I don’t blink as I stare back at him.

  He climbs on the bed, his hands on both sides of my hips. The smell of mint and cigarettes drifting around me.

  “Don’t you get it, Pocahontas, all I’m trying to do is not hurt you.”

  Pulling my hand out from under the blanket, I finger Mac’s chin, the scruff tickling the pad of my finger. An uncontrollable desire to be closer to him, to feel him deep inside of me has me scoot closer.

  “Hurt me, Mac, hurt me so fucking good.”

  His eyes blaze with adrenaline and desire, that it almost has me second guessing the words I just spewed out of lust.

  Reaching out, he traces the curve of my right side.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking for, Simone. I’ve been trying to stay away from you, because you deserve more than I can give you.” His face wrinkles as if his mind just left this room and went to a dark past.

  “I’ve been peddling the life of a sinner my whole life, Mac. I deserve everything I get in the way of karma,” I confess.

  His eyes snap to mine as if we both just surrendered our fates to one another. Like turning the lights off on your car and driving down a dark road.

  There’s no turning back, and no sight of the future.

  “Bend over, Simone.” His voice husky. My eyes widen, surprised.

  “What?”

  He tilts his head to the side.

  “Don’t puss out on me now.” He starts to unbuckle his belt. “I said pull those panties down and bend that ass over.”

  My nipples bud, and my sex pulses with what’s about to happen. Within a few quick breaths, His jeans fall to the floor, and a long, thick cock bounces freely. The tip veiny and pierced with a silver barbell.

  His strong stomach dipping into the finest V shape and happy trail of hair leading to a woman’s fantasy.

  Throwing caution to the wind, I push the blankets off me, shimmy out of my panties, and t
oss them on the floor. Mac presses his knees into the bed, kissing me deeply. His taste intoxicating me into a realm of pleasure. I inhale, taking in everything that is Mac. He’s soft, but firm. Intimidating, but comforting. His fingers tickle my stomach as he fists the bottom of the shirt and pulls it over my head. My heavy breasts on full display for him.

  He stares at me, skimming my naked body with hungry eyes.

  “Fuck you’re beautiful, Simone.”

  I give a halfhearted laugh, and rest my hand on my stomach. I’m huge.

  “No.” He rests his hand on mine. “You are really fucking beautiful, pregnant or not. You’re a catch, Pocahontas.” His compliment has me blushing like an idiot. My cheeks warming of the pinkest petals any flower could present.