by Evelyn Glass
“Not so bad yourself,” I shot back, gesturing at her dress. “Declan won’t be able to keep his hands off of you.”
Declan and Lucy had, in the grand tradition of great wedding clichés, ended up dating a few months previously. I had seen the spark of a connection the very first night they encountered each other, despite the circumstances, and when Jazz picked him as his best man, I knew that he was partially doing it to set the two of them up. It worked—they seemed deliriously happy together, Lucy’s no-nonsense attitude blending perfectly with Declan’s playful demeanor. I could see them going all the way, and I knew Lucy felt the same way too—even if she never would have admitted something so romantic without a few glasses of wine in her.
“Oh, I know, he’s already let me know that.” She flashed me a smile and I raised my eyebrows.
“Lucy Anderson, you flirt,” I teased. I felt a flutter of nervousness in my chest as I smoothed down my dress and looked in the mirror—this was it. I was more worried about having everyone looking at me than I was about getting married; it would be just typical for me to fall over and break my nose in a church full of my friends and family and have that be all anyone remembered about the day.
The dress had been my mother’s, and she had been just as unconventional as I was when she got married—and just as pregnant, too. As soon as I had seen it hanging in her cupboard, I knew I’d found the dress. It was a pale lavender with thick straps and a sweetheart neckline, landing in a floaty hem around my knees. I loved the way it made me look, but I loved the way it made me feel more—romantic and loved and hopeful. She had cried a little the first time she saw me in it, and I felt the same way. She had taken the news of Jazz, the pregnancy, and the engagement pretty well—Dad had taken some convincing, but he came around once he actually met my future husband.
“I might be, but you’re about to be someone’s wife,” Lucy reminded me. “Shall we get out there? I think it’s time to get this show on the road.”
“Yeah, I guess we should.” My heart up-ticked slightly in my chest, but it wasn’t nerves—it was excitement. I was looking forward to being his wife. To being Ella’s mother. All of this just felt so obvious that I couldn’t believe it wasn’t already over with yet.
“Come on.” Lucy linked her arm through mine and led me to the door of the little dressing room that hid in the space above the church—a narrow set of stairs led us down to where we needed to be.
I paused outside the door, and glanced at Lucy again.
“Do I look alright?” I whispered hurriedly, patting at my hair.
She brushed my hand away and nodded. “Gorgeous. Now, come on, you’ve got a wedding to go to.”
I opened the door, and the organ started up as though surprised by my entrance; everyone turned around with a great rustling of clothes and ripple of whispers as I entered, and I felt myself flush red. Okay, now don’t fall. Don’t. Fall. Ella darted out in front of me and bounced up the aisle, distracting attention from my careful footsteps.
I scanned the crowd—there was Mom and Dad, and Jazz’s family. Scott was there, too—and he had brought along Elijah, who had woken up from his coma a few weeks after Ian was arrested. He still had some memory problems, but he was doing great overall—and if I wasn’t much mistaken, I was pretty sure that I could see him and Scott holding hands. I knew it! I knew Scott had always had a crush on his old mentor, and I liked nothing more than being proved right.
Before I had a chance to think anything more of it, I found myself at the head of the aisle. I blinked and turned to Jazz, dressed in a slightly rumpled suit and looking gorgeous. He smiled at me broadly. He raised his eyebrows as if to say “so, here we are.” I stared back at him—was this really what I wanted? But it wasn’t doubt—I never doubted him. It was just my mind double-checking, making sure that I could see a life with him. And, honestly, I couldn’t see a life without him.
Declan and Lucy exchanged a flirtatious glance, and Jazz and I raised our eyebrows at each other upon noticing. I almost burst out laughing there and then at the obliviousness of the rest of the people in the church, but I bit the insides of my cheeks and kept it together—I knew I was just letting the nerves get to me.
“Shall I begin?” the minister asked, looking slightly pissed off at our antics. Jazz turned to him with a nod.
And that was it—the beginning. Finally, after all this time, we were at the start of everything. And it felt better than I ever could have imagined.
THE END
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DIRTY DADDY: Night Titans MC
By Evelyn Glass
THE DIRTY DADDY WANTS TO MAKE ME HIS FILTHY LITTLE PET.
“Single dad.” Sounds safe, right?
If you believe that, you’ve never met Dean Patterson.
I was helpless to stop his enemies from taking his little girl.
And I’ll be helpless to stop him from taking me – over, and over, and over again.
I was just a daycare nanny.
What was I supposed to do?
His enemies came for his little girl with guns, with knives, with violence in their eyes.
I did my best to protect her.
But it wasn’t enough.
They left, with Dean’s daughter in tow.
And now, Dean is going to make me pay.
The thing is, the punishment he has in mind is a little different than I expected.
He isn’t going to hurt me. Not like that.
Instead, he’s going to bend me over and show me who I belong to now.
He’s going to take my body as the price for my mistake.
And I’m going to love every second of it.
At least, that’s what he whispers in my ear.
That’s what makes my legs shake and my heart quiver.
Because when the bad boy comes for you, one thing is for sure:
You better get ready to come for the bad boy.
Chapter One
Dean
The engine hummed between Dean’s thighs, and he let his focus narrow down into a tight band. Nothing mattered but the bike underneath him, and the road ahead. He was one with the bike… or some kind of hippie shit like that. He let out a low chuckle, feeling his hands relax but steady on the handlebars, his body loose on top of the bike.
And then the flag dropped, and he was roaring forward.
He’d been riding for so long that he didn’t consciously think about what he was doing. Granted, he was on a dirt bike, not his usual Honda, but still, the motion was easy, calm, simple. He spun through the course that had been put together - of course - by the Scorpions. They’d deny it later, but there was no way Killian would’ve challenged him if he hadn’t thought he’d have an advantage. As if there was anyone in this fuckin’ town that Dean and Connell couldn’t get around when push came to shove. As if there was anyone in New England who could outrun Dean on any two-wheeled vehicle. Ridiculous.
Killian was screaming behind him, trying to cut corners and catch up, but Dean had been ahead since the flag dropped, and that wasn’t going to stop now. He’d insisted on going over the bike himself, instead of just trusting Killian’s word that it was safe. It was a good thing, too, since the brake cables had been loosened, and one of the calibers had been knocked out of alignment. It was a good thing he was having a good day; otherwise, he’d have made Killian switch bikes and watched the redheaded idiot knock himself out on a tree. That would’ve been entertaining.
He made the last turn, trusting his reflexes and balance as he laid the bike out at a ridiculous angle to the ground, then burned into the straightaway at the end of the trail. He could hear Killian behind him, still angry, trying to goose a little more speed out of his bike as he downshifted, but it was too little, far too late. As Dean rushed across the
finish line drawn in the gravel at the end of the old quarry lot, he gave a little flourish, dragging the bike’s tail end through the crushed rocks, and making Killian swerve to keep from crashing.
Killian was off his bike in half a heartbeat, the bike’s engine choking off as the sensors realized the rider had been ditched. Killian went for a gun, and everything went slow. Dean could hear Connell shouting behind him, and knew that his friend was probably pulling his own gun already, prepared to intervene not just for his buddy but for his VP. It wouldn’t be necessary. His reflexes were doing the same work for him. Dean reached for the telescopic baton he wore strapped to his belt whenever he went out as part of the Night Titans. He snapped it open even as he watched Killian’s approach. The pale man’s cheeks were bright red, whether from anger or exertion Dean didn’t know. He stomped forward like some kind of Mafioso bad ass in a terrible movie, his gun all the way extended and held in a single hand. It was nothing to step just a little bit to the side, then bring the baton down hard, just above Killian’s wrist. Dean didn’t hit hard enough to break the man’s arm, but he would have a multi-colored bruise there for days. The weapon dropped to the ground, and Dean kicked it away, then gave Killian a sharp slap between the ribs with the baton. That was all it took. Killian dropped to the ground, coughing and gagging.
“What the hell are you thinking?” Dean growled. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Connell pick up the fallen weapon and tuck it into his belt. Asshole was going to shoot his dick off one of these days, doing that. “If we were racing for territory, I could see you pulling a damn gun in my face, but wasn’t it you who called me out here for a little fun between friends?”
Killian made a raspy sound, and then vomited a stream of bile into the gravel. Dean made a face at the spatter on his boots and made a point of wiping it clean with the other man’s shirt. He wasn’t vomiting blood, that was good. Dean hadn’t come out here to start a war, despite Killian firing off like a rocket. There was a chance the Scorpions would overlook him wiping the ground with their sergeant-at-arms, but it was a chance, not a guarantee. There was a time when Dean wouldn’t have cared about the difference. But that was in the past, and then some. Even with Samara gone, he owed it to those he cared about to do the right thing. To protect the town and the territory. That was what the club was supposed to be for, despite the fools who thought otherwise. Those who thought riding bikes and wearing leather was an excuse to run drugs and beat up women.
Killian seemed to catch his breath, and he sat back on his heels. “Sorry,” he said, and he seemed to mean it. “Lost my cool there. And I swear, man, I didn’t know about the bike. About the brakes. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
Dean wasn’t sure he believed that even a little, but it was good that they were going to separate peacefully. The other Scorpions who had come to watch the showdown were easing off as well, hands backing away from guns and resting more calmly over pockets again. He reached down and helped Killian to stand up and dust himself off. Connell pulled a bottle of water from somewhere, and Dean twisted the cap open and passed it over. Killian took a chug, rinsed his mouth, and spat again.
“Killian,” Dean said, his voice deliberately pitched low. “We’re not going to have a problem here, are we?”
Killian looked up at Dean, but his eyes flicked away before they could really meet Dean’s gaze. The kid didn’t really do eye contact, something Dean respected. His old man had punished him for looking people in the eyes more than once. He was pretty sure that wasn’t why Killian tended to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes, but it was still enough of a connection for some empathy.
“No way,” he said. “I didn’t even want to do that. I’m sorry. It’s just that things are gonna be bad when we get back to the clubhouse, and I lost my patience.”
Dean’s belly twisted up just a little. The Scorpions and the Titans had been coexisting just fine for years. The Scorpions ran a whole lot of shit that the Titans didn’t touch, and as long as it didn’t happen in the Titans’ territory, they officially didn’t care. But the President of the Scorpions had just changed, the old man retiring, and his jumped up asswipe of a kid was taking over. There had already been signs that things were going to get a lot messier before the days were done. Privately, Connell and Dean had already started making plans. What they’d do if war broke out. But Fred Killian was a good kid. He was a Scorpion because he’d lived on that side of the territory line, and he wasn’t involved in the dirty shit they did.
He made his voice even quieter. “Fred, you have my number, right? You know I’ve always got a spot for you if you need one.”
Fred nodded so hard it seemed like his head might snap off his neck. It was suddenly obvious that he was barely more than a scrawny overgrown kid. And when had Dean started to feel like twenty-seven was ancient, and everyone younger than him was an actual child?
“I know, man, I know,” he said. “I gotta go, okay? I need to get out of here.”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “Take care.”
Fred picked up the dirt bike he’d been riding, and one of the other Scorpions picked up Dean’s. The small pack of men cleared out of the gravel lot until it was just Connell and Dean standing there, looking like two random dudes pissing in the wind.
“What was all that shit?” Connell asked.
Dean shook his head. “Storm’s coming. Prophetic-type stuff,” he said. “Nothing we haven’t already been talking through.”
Connell grunted. “Want to talk it over some more? Over a couple plates of chili fries and beers?”
Dean laughed and softly punched the other man in the bicep. Connell was more than ten years his senior, and he’d been the President of the Night Titans motorcycle club for about fifteen years now. He was the one who’d cleaned the club up, and when he’d seen a young Dean causing trouble at the unified high school, he’d given him a job working on bikes and sweeping floors. It had been hard work, but it had earned him enough money to get away from his drunk father and junkie mother, and that was all he’d wanted at the time. Then he’d met Samara…
The anniversary was hitting him harder than usual this year. He did his best to put it out of his mind.
Connell looked at him like he knew exactly what Dean was thinking about.
“Come on, kid,” he said, and Dean had to laugh; he’d picked up the word from somewhere. “Let’s go out and chase away some negative thoughts.”
“Okay,” Dean said. “But no chili fries for you. They make you fart like a damn dog, and it’s too cold to have the windows down in the Buick this time of year.” As he started to walk towards the old car they’d driven to the gravel quarry, his phone started to ring. He glanced down, and his heart all but stopped when he saw Abbey’s number on the caller ID.
“Just a minute,” he said, not really looking at Connell. “I have to take this.”
His heart beat a little too fast every time Abbey called. It was silly. She was nearly always just confirming that he was going to stop by for a visit or letting him know about some new expense that had come up, but it never stopped him from worrying. Even though Mia was with Abbey so he wouldn’t have to worry that he was putting the little girl in danger. He took several long steps away from Connell, more for his own mental privacy than anything else. He tapped to answer the call and put the phone to his ear, turning his body firmly away from his friend.
“Hey, Abbey. Everything okay?”
“You gotta go get her, Dean.”
Abbey’s voice was choked with tears and something more. His heart started to race. He’d been so careful for so many years, and he’d given up so much to protect the child, Sam’s child. His child. He lived in terror of someone figuring out the connection between him and Sam, and from there, it wouldn’t be much to notice that Sam’s sister had moved back to town with a baby right around the time that Sam had died. It wouldn’t take much for someone to realize that the child could be used to pull the strings of the most powerful group of quasi-outlaws in the ci
ty. He did everything he could to keep Mia safe, but a lot of that safety had to do with keeping his distance.
“What happened, Abbey?” he asked again, letting his voice drop lower, and a little more intense.
“What happened is that I was already running late to pick up Mia from aftercare, and then some shit for brains rear-ended me, and my car is completely totaled. I need you to pick her up.” Abbey sounded close to panic, but Dean felt his heart slowing down.
“Okay, no problem. Will they let me?”
“Yeah, you’re on her emergency list, it won’t be an issue. Hold on a second,” she said, and then Dean heard a muffled rustling like Abbey had turned the phone so that it was pressed up against her shirt. He heard her speaking, though he couldn’t make out the words or tell who she was talking to. There was a short, sharp sound and the rustling stopped at the same time that he heard Abbey start to scream. He heard himself yelling, but she didn’t respond, and then the call dropped, as quick as it had started.