Bear (Wayward Kings MC Book 1)

by Zahra Girard

  It’s reassuring, a bit, hearing that from her. I’m still not over seeing Nash kill those two men — I’m not sure if I ever will be — but, between the bourbon and the genuine feeling that I get from everyone around me about the value they place on family, the less I feel that I’m surrounded by a gang of bloodthirsty killers.

  Maybe I misjudged Nash.

  “So, Roxanna, are you going to dish about you and Bear, or what?” Beth.

  For someone getting so close to Ozzy, she sure seems interested in the man I came in with. And I’m definitely not a fan of the way she keeps looking over at Nash.

  “It’s exactly like I said,” I reply. “That’s it. And a relationship isn’t really on his mind, right now.”

  “Come on, you don’t need to hide or be ashamed of anything. You’re here, you’re with Bear, you’re family. I certainly don’t hide nothin about how Gunney and I met, even though it makes our president over there look like a damn fool,” Samantha chimes in.

  I shift a little, sip my drink, and smile at her, glad to have an opening where I’m not the subject of conversation. “Oh? How did you two meet?”

  “A long time ago,” Samantha starts. “I was a diver. Scuba. Commercial. I was good at it, too. And pretty good at hyperbaric welding — underwater welding — and found myself working in San Diego. I’d do welding and repair jobs out at Point Loma, Coronado, all over. The Navy kept me busy and practically living in my gear. They also put me up in an apartment right across from the Marine Corps recruiting depot, where my Gunney was stationed.”

  “So you two bumped into each other on the way to work?”

  Ozzy and the blonde both chuckle and Samantha shakes her head. “Yes and no. He saw me one morning and asked me out. I told him to fuck off because I don’t date military men since they tend to be immature assholes. But, every morning for two weeks, he asked me out. He’d bring me coffee, breakfast things like pastries, all that, and every time I’d tell him to fuck off.”

  “How did he convince you, then?”

  She takes a moment to refill her glass of bourbon. “One morning, after weeks of this shit, he’s not there. I go into work, and that morning I’m down deep doing some welding. Next thing I know, this man, wearing nothing but a pair of briefs and a snorkel, is fifteen meters down with me. Once I get over my shock — and appreciating his package, because, let me tell you, white briefs don’t hide nothing when they’re wet — I realized it’s Gunney. He waves at me, I flip him off, but then he motions like he can’t breathe. He’s out of air and in serious trouble.”

  “If a man kept after me like that, I would’ve let him drown,” the blonde says. “Creep.”

  “That’s fucking cruel, Beth,” Ozzy says. “I hope you’re taking the piss saying that.”

  “I’m not anywhere near a bathroom, Ozzy,” she says.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” he says.

  “Samantha,” I say, much louder than I have to, butting in to interrupt Beth. “What happened next?”

  “There was no way I was letting him drown after I saw how well he was endowed,” Samantha replies. “So we buddy breathe until we get back to the surface. As soon as we’re up, he says to me that he’ll accept nothing less than taking me out to dinner that night as a thank you for saving his life. I agreed, since it’d been a while since I’d been laid, and, well, here we are.”

  “I appreciate you being open like that, but, honestly, Nash and I aren’t dating,” I say. And I try to sound as sincere as possible saying it. I appreciate all three of them being much more open and friendly than I expected. Everyone here, from the guy in the maid outfit singing George Michael songs to Ozzy, Samantha, and Beth — even though they might seem dysfunctional — are more of a family unit than I would have guessed. “I’m just helping him.”

  Warm, gentle, a hand settles on my shoulder and squeezes me slightly. I loosen up, lean back into it instinctively. It’s Nash. He leans down and puts his lips by my ear. “Roxanna, it’s time to go. Come on, I’ll show you my cabin.”

  The heat in his voice lifts the edges of my lips. He sounds so different than when we first arrived. It must be being around his family that’s smoothed out his hard edges; it’s certainly lifted my mood. That, and the bourbon.

  “Your cabin?” I say.

  I look back at him. He’s smiling. That half-smirk that makes me feel warm all over. “Yeah. My home.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see Samantha wink at me. “Have a good night, hun.”

  On wobbly legs, I stand up, holding on to his hand as I get down off of the bar stool and steadying myself against him.

  I have to admit, it feels nice being close to a man like him while surrounded by people who actually care for one another. A family.

  “Ok, let’s go home.”

  He smiles, and his hand squeezes mine – tighter, inviting, promising. I squeeze back.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Nash

  I’d imagined I’d feel lighter seeing my family again; that being surrounded by everyone I love would help take some of the weight of everything going on with Abigail off my shoulders and let me face those problems knowing I have every one of the Wayward Kings behind me.

  But instead, I’m driving towards the seaside cabin I call home feeling even more weighed down than I did before I got here. Their problems — my club’s problems — now are mine and, as good as I feel being back with my brothers, it just reminds me of what I’m lacking the most: my daughter.

  I’ve gotten a hint of what having a family can be like. I want what comes next. But to get there, I’m going to have to go through hell.

  “What was with the man in the maid outfit back there?” Roxanna says.

  I shake my head clear. Force a smile. Bring my focus back on the woman at my side. My smile becomes less forced as I lay eyes on her.

  “That was Jynx. He earned his patch a few years ago. Took his long ride and wound up passing through Reno. It didn’t turn out well.”

  “So, was the maid outfit just because he lost a bet? Or was that just him enjoying himself?”

  “A bit of both, if I’m being honest with you. And he looks pretty good in it.”

  “He’s got nice calves, I’ll give him that. But what did he do to end up in it?”

  “He lost thirty grand. Got in way over his head and called Rog, our treasurer, for a bailout. Rog helped him, and Jynx’s been working overtime for the club to pay back what he owes. He’ll be almost even after this week, so they’re making his last week of debt special.”

  “Ok, I get working off your debt. But they’ve got a weird way of doing it.”

  “You mean the maid outfit? Or do you mean Jynx singing the debut single of one of the defining solo performers of the eighties? A song by one half of the biggest duos of that same decade — a duo that also happened to be one of the first western groups to perform in China?”

  “George Michael? How do you know this shit?”

  “The military, Roxy. You learn a lot when you’re bored out of your mind, with weeks of mind-numbing nothing separating you from thirty minutes of action.”

  She gives me some side-eye. I can feel it without even looking at her. Though it’s strange — I would’ve expected her to have some basic appreciation for good music.

  “I meant both.”

  “I’ll admit the maid outfit is a bit weird. But they’ve got to make this last week count, and Rog always did have a strange sense of humor. And maybe a fetish. Singing ‘Careless Whisper’ though is just wanting to hear a good song. It’s not my favorite of George Michael’s — that’d probably be ‘Faith’ — but it’s not a bad choice.”

  “I seriously don’t think I’ll ever figure you guys out.”

  “What’s there to figure out? We’re a family, we love each other, we’re there for one another, and when it comes to small shit, we have fun.”

  “At least Jynx didn’t look too bad in his outfit.”

  “Yeah, h
e’s been working out since I saw him last and that skirt really lets him show off.”

  A few more turns and we leave the paved roads behind. At the end of a quarter mile stretch of gravel, surrounded by pine trees and western red cedars, there’s a clearing. At the edge of the clearing, just steps away from a rocky little beach, is my cabin.

  The air smells like the ocean; briny, sharp, with the faint funk of seaweed and shellfish. Oyster shells — some empty, some full — line the beach and, when the season’s right, you only need a shucking knife and a half hour of your time to get a decent meal.

  This place is my home.

  This place is my sanctuary from all the shit.

  And, in the attached garage, my bike is waiting for me. I itch to grip those handlebars and feel the seat between my legs.

  We get out of the truck and, there’s a moment between the truck’s engine stopping and our feet crunching the gravel as we walk towards my cabin, where I can hear the waves lap against the rocky stretch of beach. It’s a sound that tickles the edge of my consciousness, that tells me that, in this moment, I am finally fucking free.

  Fuck, it feels good.

  Roxanna doesn’t say anything as I lead her to the front door. I don’t blame her, my place doesn’t look like much from the outside. But, when I unlock the front door and open it up, it only takes the flick of the light switch to get an appreciative whistle from her.

  The living area and the kitchen is one big, open-plan area. It’s wall-to-wall warm wood, a fireplace made from hand-laid stone, a sofa and a set of reclining chairs that just scream for you to lie down and sleep for hours, polished hardwood floors, granite counter-tops in the kitchen, stainless steel appliances.

  “Wow,” she says, stretching the word out in one long, whisper.

  “Yeah,” I say, grinning. I can’t help it — even after all these years, this place makes me happy and proud. “This is home.”

  “Did you build this?”

  “Yep.”

  “By yourself?”

  “I had help with some stuff from a few of the guys. Electricals, mainly, and some plumbing — neither of which you want to fuck with if you’re just a layman. But most everything else is all me.”

  She steps up to the fireplace, running her hands along some of the stone. “How long did it take you?”

  “About sixteen months. Give or take,” I say, coming up next to her and tapping the fireplace. “I picked these rocks out myself. Some are from the beach here, some from a river nearby. I wanted to make this place special. I didn’t have much of a family growing up. The Marines were my family, but, when I got out, I drifted a bit until I found the Wayward Kings. I hadn’t had a family like that before — and I knew, if I was going to make Stony Shores my home, I needed a place to live that I could be proud of.”

  “It’s nice,” she says, taking my hand.

  “Yeah, it’s not bad.”

  “When I first got into math — and I mean, really committed to it — my dad built me this desk. He built it, and I helped plan it out. It had this upper shelf for all my text books, it had small organizer drawers for my pens and pencils and erasers, and this little notch to hold my graphing calculator upright. It made me work harder, because suddenly there was this part of us, tied in to what I wanted to become.”

  I let her have her moment and keep myself from saying anything negative about her father. It’s not hard. She’s got this gentle smile on her face like someone lost in a fond memory.

  “Let me show you something else,” I say,

  I’ve brought women back to my cabin before, sure, but I haven’t shown any of them around other than showing them my bedroom. And the next morning I’d show them the door. Roxanna’s worth more than that.

  She looks up at me, and that smile stays on her face. “Lead the way.”

  I take her to the second bedroom. It’s kind of small and, really, only loosely fits the definition of a bedroom: there’s a cot, but it’s folded up and underneath a work table. A set of shelves sits against one wall opposite the worktable. There’s a tool chest against the other wall, next to a rack that holds a few guns and some mementos and badges from my time in the marines. Dust covers everything.

  It’s been so long since I’ve been in here. Years. The switch on the wall flicks, but either the electrical’s out or the bulb’s dead. The only light comes in through the doorway and the moonlight filtering through the close window shades.

  “A work room?” she says.

  “It was. But I have some other plans for it and I want your opinion.”

  She looks at me warily. “What’s that?”

  I pull the curtain back from the room’s only window. It’s a large window, running nearly wall-to-wall. It looks directly out to the beach. The moon and stars shine on the rocky shore, and the gentle caps of waves glow with the reflected starlight. Far off in the distance, against the backdrop of the starlit sky, there’s the dark shadow of the Olympic mountains.

  It’s the best view in the whole cabin.

  “I have this crazy idea,” I start. If it wasn’t impossible, I’d almost think I was kind of embarrassed. I’ve been shot, I’ve seen combat in the service, I’ve had gangsters shove guns in my faces, but this makes me hesitate like nothing else. “I want to make this into a room for Abigail. I want to make it the best room in the whole house, just for her. When I built this place, this was supposed to be the room where I worked on my things — cleaned my guns, tinkered with my projects — but that little girl’s going to be the most important thing in my life, so I want to turn this over to her. The thing is, I don’t know where to start.”

  The moonlight coming through the window reflects in her eyes.

  “You want my help?”

  “I do.”

  “Are you sure? What about some of the other club girls? I’m sure Samantha could give you a hand.”

  “Samantha’s a great woman, and I can’t wait for Abigail to meet her and the rest of my family at the club, but Samantha’d turn this room into some kind of cross between 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and Rosie the Riveter. And if that’s what my little girl ends up choosing, I’ll give it to her,” I say. My words burn in my throat, there isn’t a damn thing I wouldn’t do for that little girl. “But to start, I want to just give her something nice, something normal. I just don’t know what that is. And I need help.”

  She puts her hand on my arm, squeezing my bicep just a little. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

  “She’s my world. I love that little girl so much it almost scares me.”

  Moving closer, she slips her arm around me, resting her head against the spot on my arm where my bicep meets my shoulder. It fits perfectly. It’s like this, right here, is what that little space was designed for.

  “I’ll help you.”

  I look over the room. In my mind, I can start to see this space taking shape. Turning good. Girly — whatever that means; brightly painted walls, new curtains, an actual bed with frilly girly sheets with ponies on them, and whatever the hell else three year old girls like decorating the walls.

  I look down at her. Moonlight and stars in her eyes, a smile on her face. She’s warm. Her hair — mussed, messed, from days on the road — smells like the clubhouse, with hints of smooth tobacco, beer, and sweat, but, beneath that, it smells like her, and that scent is so indescribably good. It works its way into my blood and lights a spark inside me.

  “Thank you.”

  “She deserves to have a space of her own and a chance at a good life with her dad,” she says. There’s something in her words that I can’t quite place, a note and a catch in her voice. She hops up on her tiptoes and kisses me on the cheek. “It might’ve been a while since I was a three year old girl, but I’ll do what I can to fill this room with dolls and ponies and whatever other pink and cliche stuff I can.”

  I chuckle and pull her tight. “It means a lot to me. I want this to work.”

  She mumbles, wordless vibrations
of agreement against my chest, then, slowly she spins out of my arms. There’s a glint in her eye, a bright flame that heats my blood to boiling. “It’ll be great. But first, there’s a question I’ve been dying to ask since we got here: does this place have a shower?”

  “What? You think that just because I’m some dirty biker that lives in a cabin alone in the woods that I wouldn’t have a shower?”

  “At face value, everything you’ve said adds up to you not having a shower. Before you showed me this place, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you didn’t have lights or electricity.”

  “Yes, I have a shower.”

  Moonlight turns her smile a brilliant white. “Show me.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Roxanna

  I hold his hand as he takes me into the hallway. Rough, calloused, worn with years of riding, with knuckles sunken from years of fighting, but as hard as he is, I know these hands will touch me right.

  Excitement builds in my chest.

  I’m smiling — I can’t help it.

  Being in that room, hearing him lay out without any hesitation how he wants to turn this space, that used to be dedicated to guns and whatever other violent business his club was involved in, into something good makes my heart light.

  There’s good in Nash.

  He’s utterly fierce, violent, and I’m certain Bear earned his nickname for more than just his beard, but the good inside him is just as fierce. And he’s surrounded by people who love just as violently and whole-heartedly.

  It might not be typical, but it is a family. As long as Nash can keep a hold of himself, can control that violent part of him I saw earlier tonight, he could be an incredible dad.

  Warmth spreads throughout my body.

  “When I built this place, I was only planning for myself,” he says as he leads me down the hallway. “I didn’t host people, have guests, any of that. Really, the only people who’ve been here were Samantha and Gunney — they took care of my cabin while I was in the joint.”