Biker Daddy (A Rogue Tide Motorcycle Club Romance)

by Nikki Wild

  “Alright,” he grinned, reaching for the remote. “My tastes are pretty eclectic, though. Kind of come with the territory of swapping countries, jumping into the military, and already having a rebellious streak straight up my arse beforehand…”

  He cycled through some options, hovering over a few documentaries and action series, before selecting a stand-up comedian I hadn’t heard of.

  “Oh, this is one of my favorite guys,” he chuckled. “Hope you enjoy it.”

  “I’m sure I’ll enjoy myself,” I grinned, and we nestled up a little closer together. That’s how we spent the rest of the evening – pressed against one another, his arm around my shoulder, and laughing hysterically at a string of fantastic comedians… with some leftover takeout on the coffee table.

  As far as home dates go, it was pretty great.

  Seven

  Clara and I were just falling into a routine as a text out of the blue caught me by surprise. Even as I made eye contact with my father, sitting halfway down the bar with a few empty stools surrounding him, I couldn’t fathom why he’d contacted me.

  > Need to talk. Drinks tonight?

  I brushed past a few bar patrons as I made my way over. To my surprise, instead of being the life of the party, my father was apparently deeply lost in thought. Taking my seat beside him, I reciprocated his warmth as he firmly clasped his hand against my opposite shoulder blade.

  “Thanks for joining me on such short notice, son,” my father greeted me happily. He seemed to be glad to be free from whatever thoughts were in his head. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Whiskey neat,” I answered.

  “Alrighty then.” He clicked his fingers a few times for the bartender, ordering me the drink. We sat in silence for a moment, watching the man quickly pour my refreshment before sliding it to my hands.

  “So, what’s gotten you rattled?” I asked politely, preferring to get straight to the matter of things.

  “Little blunt there, aren’t you?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Don’t you want to catch up a few minutes, first?”

  “Dad, I just saw you maybe two weeks ago,” I reasoned. “I figured that we were essentially past the small talk stage again…”

  “Hogwash,” he replied in a half-mutter. “We were visiting together for the first time, all of us as a family. It was different. This is more about you and I.”

  “I was under the impression that you and I were good,” I told him, sipping my drink. “Is there something new that I’m not aware of?”

  “No, no, everything’s fine between us,” my father deflected calmly. “It’s just that… I wanted to know where you’re going in life, now that you’re out of the Marines and you’re in school.”

  “This is an odd time to ask that question. I’ve been out for the entire summer, after all. Only been an hour’s drive away.”

  “I know, son,” he groaned, ignoring his beer for the moment. “I’m sorry that I’ve been a bit distant, it’s just that I haven’t seen much of you since your days in high school, and I’ve… forgotten, maybe, how to be a better father to you.”

  Oh, it’s this again.

  “You’ve been a great father,” I told him. “I know we didn’t see eye-to-eye all the time, but you did the best you could with raising me. I know that you’re busy with work, and with your girlfriend. I’ve been tied up too. I could have picked up the phone myself, so it’s not just your fault.”

  He looked like he wanted to say something, but then didn’t. “I understand. I just… I still feel bad about things. I wish I could have been better. That I could have given you more.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I retorted.

  “Yes, it is, son. I made a mistake. That mistake cost me a great deal.”

  “You learned from your mistake. It’s not your fault that the Carlyle Fortune was ripped from your hands. I have never held you responsible for that.”

  “Right,” Father nodded, sipping from his beer again. “Well, it’s just that…”

  Things suddenly clicked.

  “You want to know my plans for the future? Is this because of the money?” I asked, trying to determine where he was going with this. “Are you hard up for cash?”

  “What? No, of course not!” He replied almost indignantly. After a second, the anger calmed down out of his eyes – the last vestiges of his former self, sometimes threatening to resurface out from his calm and pleasant demeanor. “This has nothing to do with the money… for me. I’ve made my own way, and I’m lucky that my career has paid as well as it has.”

  “You were robbed of it,” I contested.

  “Be that as it may… I want to know what your designs for your inheritance are. As you’re aware, you’ll receive it on your 30th birthday, assuming that you’ve fulfilled your grandparents’ criteria. You’re 26 years old now. What are you doing until then?”

  I was taken slightly aback by the question, but I drank from my glass and answered anyway.

  “Seeing as I’ve done nothing to diminish the family name, not that they’re aware of, at any rate, I’m certain that I’ll be–”

  “The whoring around?” He cut in, questioningly. I knew that he meant it as an innocent question, and not an insult.

  “–Yes, they’re none the wiser. This leaves my place of standing in society, and my higher education. It would appear that things lined up properly. Eight years in the marines, a veteran of the Iraq War, and now four years of college until I obtain my degree. All of that, just in time to have my 30th birthday and win my birthright – the birthright that should have been yours.”

  “So that’s the plan, then? No surprises?”

  I felt suddenly compelled to mention Clara, but banished the thought. Why on earth would I do something as stupid as that?

  “If there are any surprises, they’ll be as much to you as they are to me,” I replied coolly, taking another sip of whiskey before the ice began to melt in earnest. “Being preoccupied with these things means that I wouldn’t have the time to get into too much trouble.”

  “Wise choice,” he nodded approvingly. “What are you pursing for your degree?”

  “Haven’t quite decided,” I mused aloud. “I’d like to say something practical, just in case I manage to piss off my grandparents before the inheritance kicks in… but honestly, I’m thinking something easy. I think I’ve got this in the bag.”

  My father took a deep swig, watching me carefully over the tip of his beer. “You realize, of course, that dearest Mum and Dad have incredibly high standards... what makes you so sure?”

  “Simple,” I shrugged. “The worst thing I’ve done is fuck a lot of women, a detail that they won’t ever need to know. They’ve already accepted my Marine career as meeting their needs. School is literally all I have left to do… that, and bide my time.”

  “And what will you do with all that money?” He asked curiously, clicking his fingers to request another beer for himself. “What happens when you earn your birthright?”

  “I give you yours, and I travel the world.”

  “No, son, my time’s passed,” he shook his head. “That’s all yours. I have enough money to live happily. I can retire in ten years and call that that until the end of my days.”

  “Yeah, but Dad… you shouldn’t have had to work,” I countered.

  “Originally, no,” he conceded. “But I made do. I made my own way in the world, without their support or their money.”

  “And where has that gotten you?” I asked, growing weary of his tone.

  “Happy,” he explained. “Once I understood the ramifications of losing the inheritance, it was just William Carlyle versus the world. I made do. I survived. Nay, I persevered. And from that perseverance came my life now, with this wonderful woman, a well-paying job, and a son who has proven me proud.”

  “I don’t think I understand where you’re going with this,” I stated bluntly, taking another deep swig of the whiskey.

  Father sighed tiredly. “You’
ve always been so focused on the bloody money. Every major decision you’ve ever made has included your grandparents. Your entire life since adolescence has been run by their expectations. Don’t you wish you had freedom? Don’t you want to know who you are without that in your future?”

  “I can have my freedom when it’s mine,” I grumbled through gritted teeth. “When I can do whatever I want for the rest of my life.”

  “That’s not technically true,” he replied.

  “Excuse me?”

  My father paused, choosing his words carefully. “You realize that there are stipulations, right? Ways to lose access to the Carlyle Fortune?”

  I didn’t know that, and my stunned expression seemed to convey the point.

  “What, did you really think that you could play the game and just wait out the clock?” He chuckled condescendingly, with a heavy shake of his head. “Don’t be stupid, boy. The inheritance has passed down the family line for generations. How, do you think, it has managed to keep itself together, instead of being completely blown on the first gluttonous maniac to wield it?”

  Anger started to boil up inside me.

  Why am I hearing about this NOW?

  Father watched my reaction for a few seconds before he continued. “I’m not surprised that they didn’t explain that part to you. If I’d known, I would have done so years ago… you can’t do whatever you want with the money. That’s foolhardy, and it compromises the succession. You can only use so much of it a year, and you have to inject some money back into it. That’s how they’ve held onto it all these years.”

  “But what about their extravagant lifestyle?”

  “Extravagant lifestyle?” Dad laughed riotously. “You must not know your grandparents well. They barely spend any of that godforsaken money. They’re always obsessing over keeping their little dignified nest egg safe – particularly your grandfather.”

  “What about the house? The servants?” I asked, thinking about the prized Carlyle Manor, high in the hills.

  “The house is part of the inheritance, and the servants are paid out of the interest earned by the family investments,” Dad shook his head. “I’m quite flabbergasted that you didn’t know all of this.”

  “Your parents are somewhat lax on the details, it would appear,” I bitterly remarked.

  This wasn’t part of the plan. I was supposed to just inherit a vast sum of money and cruise on it for the rest of my days. I wished I had been allowed to discuss it with my father – he might have filled me in on some of the details if I had bothered to ask. However, Raleigh Carlyle was very specific in that I should only talk to them if I wanted to know more… and I hadn’t wanted to come off as too eager.

  They didn’t exactly favor eagerness, when it came to inheriting their wealth.

  “There are responsibilities; inherit the Carlyle Fortune, and you’ll find yourself caught between the binding chains of succession. To fail to meet the ongoing criteria is to forfeit the fortune to the next in succession – and to be legally barred from ever receiving any of it, unless you want to risk their birthright to it as well.”

  “This is bullshit,” I grumbled furiously.

  I’d planned for the contingency, but if what he was telling me was true… then taking the money was to submit myself to a lifelong screening beneath their standards.

  “Your ancestor, Reginald Carlyle, was very particular in his wishes,” Dad muttered. “His will was signed by the reigning King of England, and cannot be overturned by a successive will. His rules dictate when his wealth should be stripped of an inheritor and proceeded down the chain.”

  “And what happens when there are no successors?” I angrily asked. “What if you drop dead and I never have a child? I’m the last Carlyle in the chain. Can I dictate where the chain goes next?”

  “What you have to remember about Reginald is that he became fiercely determined to restore the family name to glory, no matter the consequences,” Dad grunted. “Upon demise of the family name, the entire Carlyle Fortune returns to the Crown.”

  “The monarchy takes it all,” I realized with horror. “If there’s no direct blood successor, it gets piled into the endless coffers of the King and Queen.”

  “Precisely.”

  We sat in silence for a moment.

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. All of this was complete, utter bullshit. It had never really occurred to me that I’d ever turn down the Carlyle Fortune. The inheritance apparently came with a plethora of binding strings…

  All those strings would be attached to me.

  It’s not fair. This wasn’t the plan.

  “So, did you just call me down here to rip away my dreams and send me back into the night, or was there some sort of ulterior motive to requesting my company?” I asked bitterly.

  “Ah, yes,” Father remembered. “I hadn’t even meant to really broach that topic. But you will have all the time you need to question Raleigh Carlyle, so long as you act quickly…”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your grandfather is growing old,” he replied, taking a final swig from his beer. “You can’t really tell, just looking at him, but his health is vastly deteriorating. According to Mum, he’s not expected to last the end of the year.”

  “Granddad is dying?”

  “He is, the old bastard,” Father nodded, his eyes lost straight ahead. “The two of them will be here in the States shortly. It’s likely that this will be your last chance to see him before he finally keels over and slides back down into whatever pit of Hell he first crawled out from.”

  This was all a lot to process.

  But I wasn’t prepared for the real bombshell.

  “What’s bringing them stateside? I don’t recall ever hearing about my grandparents flying our way.”

  Dad looked at me with surprise, before finally curling his face into a warm smile. “Oh, that’s right, neither of you know… Sarah wanted it to be a surprise, after all. She’s not telling Clara for a week.”

  “Sarah wanted what to be a surprise?” I asked, feeling fear mount in the back of my head.

  My father flashed the backs of his knuckles, revealing a modest silver band. “As much as I might hate your grandparents, I wanted them to be present – both of them, alive to see it, and how far I’ve come without them.

  “You see… I proposed last night.”

  Eight

  I grew concerned when Dalton didn’t answer my texts all weekend. It wasn’t like him to ignore me, and I was beginning to think that something was really wrong.

  It was Sunday night when he finally rang. On misguided principle, I almost didn’t answer.

  “Hello, stranger,” I greeted him bitterly.

  “Clara,” he replied over the phone. Something was wrong with his voice. “I’m sorry that I’ve been distant the last few days, I’ve just been… dealing with something.”

  “Oh? What might that be?”

  There was a pause over the line.

  “My grandfather is dying.”

  Regret instantly panged inside my heart. Here I was, furious that he hadn’t been in touch since leaving early Friday night, and he was grieving the coming loss of his grandfather?

  Way to fucking go, Clara.

  “Oh my god. I’m so sorry, Dalton. Is there anything that I can do?” I asked tenderly, trying to quickly kill the residual frustration inside.

  “I want company. Can you come over?”

  I paused. This was a big step.

  “Are you… are you sure that’s what you want?” I asked, swallowing my hesitation. I had a faint idea of the kind of comforting he’d want if I drove over there, and I wasn’t quite prepared to give that. “I mean, I just don’t want you to be disappointed or anything…”

  “You’re right. Forget it,” he replied tersely.

  Second time I’ve fucked up today.

  “No, Dalton, I didn’t mean it like–”

  “I said forget it,” he insisted. “Anyway. I’m going to
just watch some TV and go to sleep. Have a good night. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

  With that, he hung up.

  I stood there, holding the silent phone to my head like an idiot for a couple of minutes. All sorts of thoughts spiraled through my head – How could I be so cold? What would really happen if I went? Would he even open the door if I did?

  Lowering my phone, I stumbled out into the apartment like an emotionally drained zombie. Natalie was lying on the couch with her boyfriend, Jared. Her head was in his lap, and he was absentmindedly stroking her hair while they watched something together.

  As if she had some sort of Super Roommate ESP, she bolted upright as I came out.

  “Hey. What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I replied apathetically, glancing up at her.

  Her eyes slid from mine down to the phone in my hand. “You finally got him on the line, didn’t you? And you heard something you didn’t like?”

  “He, uh, his grandparents are dying. I mean, just his grandfather, I guess,” I responded mindlessly. “He asked me to go over, but I didn’t think it was a good idea. When I said that, he got mad at me.”

  “Of course he’s mad at you, you big, dumb oaf,” Natalie chuckled, shaking her head. “Look, so you’re not exactly the most comforting chick on the block. Whatever. You know where he lives, right? Go see him.”

  Jared nodded quietly, trying to contribute to the conversation in some way.

  “But he’s angry.”

  “So what? He’ll be fine when he sees you. Maybe not immediately, but if you work some of your feminine charm on the guy… eh, he’ll come back around.”

  “You want me to sleep with him?”

  “You do you, girl,” she smiled cheerily. “If that’s what you want, then yeah. Just don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. I don’t think he’ll exactly be ready to totally jump your bones if this is still sinking in.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” I agreed.