OWNED: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Blood Warriors MC)

by Naomi West

  He checked the time. “Listen, I gotta get going and meet one of the brothers, okay?”

  “That's fine, hon,” Tova said as he pushed himself back from the kitchen table and got to his feet. She rose to meet him for a hug. “Talk to you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah,” he said as he pulled her into an embrace. “Okay, tomorrow. Listen, I'll get this figured out. Everything will be okay, alright?”

  “I know it will, son,” Tova said, weakly squeezing his shoulder. She lightly patted him on the back. “I know.”

  Tanner let himself out through the kitchen door and circled around to the driveway. He hopped on his bike, kicked it into life, and took off for his bar, the Old Crow.

  Thoughts swirled in his head, and concerns about his mom clenched at his stomach. If she'd been doing better, or if his pops had left money aside for her, he'd have just ignored his inheritance. His ownership portion in the bar was more than enough to keep him happy and provided for.

  Of course, that's why all the money had been tied up in the trust.

  So, what were his options? Get another job?

  No, that would just take time from the Blood Warriors, which was why he didn't have a girl in the first place.

  Find some girl he could knock up?

  He mentally shook his head. Only girl he'd be able to find willing to have his baby would be some piece-of-trash club girl. Did he want that kind of groupie slut to raise his baby? She'd be leaving that poor kid home every Friday night, just so she could come down to the Old Crow and grope Tanner's brothers.

  Adopt?

  That right there was a laugh. What adoption agency in their right mind would give him a baby? Besides, the Will said it had to be his. Old Man Rainier had wanted a living blood heir.

  Fifteen minutes later, he was slowing down his bike on the stretch of highway that ran in front of the bar, and turning into the parking lot. A little rundown hatchback sat out in front, and Tyke's bike was pulled up near the front door. Tanner cruised up to the entrance and parked. He climbed off and headed inside, his mood still gloomy.

  He pulled the front door open and stomped inside, the stale air almost comforting as it hit him in the face. He waved to Jethro, their bartender, as he headed past on his way to the back booth that was almost perpetually reserved for members of the Blood Warriors.

  As he stalked past, his eyes glanced to the right and caught sight of a very out-of-place looking young woman seated at the next booth over. Her head hung, her brunette hair spilling down and forward, as she traced a path with her finger through the water-ring left by her beer. She was dressed nice, like she'd been at an office job. Or church, even.

  Tanner didn't pay it any more attention than he had to, though. Thoughts of his mom and her needs crowded back in as he collapsed into the booth across from the big, muscle-bound, shaven-headed Tyke.

  “What it do, man?” Tyke rumbled in his deep bass.

  “Fucking hell, Tyke,” Tanner cussed before launching into a tirade about his pops' death, about the Will, and about the requirements on the trust.

  Tyke held up his hand as the Will was mentioned. “Sorry, dude, we gotta have shots and some more brew for this legal shit. You're making me have flash backs to when my old man passed. And, knowing your pappy, this is going to be a way worse shitshow than mine.”

  “Jethro, buddy,” Tanner called as he hopped up to grab the drinks, “two beers, two bourbons.”

  Jethro had the shots poured before he even got to the bar, and was already opening the beer bottles by the time Tanner put his hands around the shots.

  “Anything new today?” Tanner asked, picking up the bourbons in one hand and grabbing the beer bottles by the neck with the other.

  Jethro shook his head. After a second's thought, though, he decided there was something. “Girl in that booth next to y'all. Looking for a job cocktailing.”

  “That woman? She looks like she got lost on the way here from Sunday school. Way too nice for this beer joint.”

  The bartender cracked a toothy smile. “Thought the same thing. Had to turn her away, though. More waitresses than we need, anyhow.”

  “Shame. She's pretty enough. Probably class the place up, too,” Tanner said as he grabbed the drinks and headed back to rejoin Tyke at the booth. He snuck a glance at the young woman as he returned with their beers and shots, intrigued at why she'd need a job in a place like this. He set the shots down in the center of the table, and Tyke snatched up his without a moment's hesitation.

  “Alright, sir,” Tyke said as he picked up the glass and gestured to Tanner with it. “May you be through the Pearly Gates before the Devil knows you're dead.”

  “Back atcha,” Tanner said and they toasted each other before slamming back their shots and clapping the glasses face down on the table.

  “Now, Tanner my friend,” Tyke said with a flourish, “you may resume.”

  Tanner launched back into his story, about how badly his dad had screwed them over, and about the requirements put on him to have a baby before he could get into the trust. His eyes raged, his voice was raised, and he slammed his fist on the table more than a few times.

  Tyke took it all in, but by the end he could hardly control his laughter.

  “What the fuck's so funny? Huh?”

  “You, man, that's what,” Tyke said, still chuckling as he took a drink of his beer. “You all bent outta shape about having to knock some bitch up? Like it's a fucking miracle of goddamn nature or some shit? Shit, man, I've done it twice that I know of, and both times by fucking accident.”

  “What're you saying, man?”

  “What I'm saying is,” Tyke replied as he leaned forward on his elbows, “you just gotta find yourself one of them . . . what're they called? Sure-gates.”

  “Sure-gate? A surrogate, you mean?”

  “Yeah, man. Find some chick who actually wants a kid, offer to pay for it, send it to Harvard, do whatever, then, pow,” he slammed his fist into his hand, “you bang one out, man. Presto. You got yourself a fucking kid, and you got yourself the trust. Just fucking man-up and quit being such a touchy-feely pussy about this shit.”

  Tyke was right. He just needed to man-up on this. He could run a bar, he could nail a board, and he could beat the ever-living shit out of a man if he had to. Why didn't he just do this? Tanner hung his head. “You're right. I just gotta find some woman who'd be willing to do it.”

  Tyke's cell rang. He reached down and dug in his pocket, pulled it out to check the ID. “Shit,” he muttered as he climbed out of the booth. “That's Thorne, man. I better get moving.”

  Tanner went to stand, and the two hugged and clapped each other viciously on the back.

  “Find you a girl,” Tyke said, “and just knock her up. Easy-peasy, man.”

  “Right,” Tanner agreed as Tyke headed back out to his bike. “Easy-fucking-peasy.”

  Chapter Two

  Star

  Surrogate. That was a job that sounded easy enough to Star. Lay back, get pregnant, have baby, get paid to take care of the baby. Not really a surrogate, though. More like a paid mother. To her slightly-tipsy mind, it actually didn't sound half bad.

  The Blood Warriors biker in the booth next to hers got up for another beer as she wondered her thoughts aloud. His boots stomped across the floor right in front of her booth.

  “Geez,” she said aloud, forgetting how empty the bar was, “I wonder how much you'd have to pay a woman to have your baby?”

  The boots scraped on the floor as they came to a dead stop.

  She had a sinking feeling, and it wasn't the alcohol. She didn't know how she knew it, maybe it was some deep instinct, but she felt like she was being watched. Star glanced up from her beer.

  Yep, she was being watched. The Blood Warriors biker, the handsome, sexy one who had come in a second ago, was staring at her. He worked his jaw, clenching and unclenching his teeth like an animal, his pale blue eyes bored into hers for just a moment. As their gazes lingered, he broke off th
eir connection to turn and go back to the bar.

  What was that about? Was it because he thought she might have overheard them talking? Oh no, part of her brain screamed at her, he needed to shut her up. He didn't want it to get out that he had to get a woman pregnant to get his inheritance. She never should have come to the Old Crow, never should have come here instead of Juicy Lucy’s.

  She was going to get raped here, or killed, or both. She grabbed her beer and went to finish it down, her mind working overtime. Not that she'd mind, at this point. What else did she have to live for, anyways? At least it would be a handsome man ending her life.

  “Jethro,” the biker called, “two more beers, buddy.”

  He was such a drunk low-life. He was ordering two beers for himself! She paused and took a deep breath, then finished the rest of hers, to steady her nerves to leave.

  The resounding thump of each boot heel preceded him as he came back over to the booths.

  She fumbled for her purse.

  He set the beers on the table and pushed one in front of her. “Going somewhere?” he asked, his voice as unyielding as his muscle-bounds arms probably were.

  She glanced up at him. “N-n-no.”

  “Good. Have one on the house.”

  “I don't need you to buy me a drink.”

  “I'm not. I'm part-owner of this place. I'm giving it to you.”

  Part-owner? Him? She glanced from the beer to his face, to those cold, sexy eyes, and back again. “I think I should really - ”

  “Look,” he said as he slid into the booth, across from her. “Jethro told me you were looking for a job cocktailing. Right?”

  She nodded, her spirits rising a little. Maybe, since he was part owner, he could hire her. This could be a good thing.

  “Well, you don't exactly look like the cocktail waitress type.”

  Well, that wasn't a promising start to the interview. Her spirits sunk again. She didn't feel like the type, either, and shook her head.

  “You're . . . the respectable type.” He said it like he'd never seen it in person before.

  “I guess I am,” she agreed. And, she was, even if she happened to be sitting here in this dive of a biker bar, getting drunk on cheap liquid courage before she went to apply at a strip club.

  She'd wanted to go to college, but that hadn't happened because of her parents. Instead, she'd been flailing, trying to find a way out of this town, a way to get as far as possible from the memories of both here and the next town over.

  He took a big gulp of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his scarred, callused hand. He set the beer down and bored his eyes into hers again, forcing all of her attention on him. He folded his hands on the table. His veined, rippling muscles danced beneath the tattoos that sleeved both forearms.

  “I have a proposition,” he said.

  Maybe it was a job? Nervous, she felt her heart quickening. She could certainly imagine herself working under his management. “What kind of proposition?” she asked in a wavering voice, and took another drink.

  His eyes held hers like a snake-charmer mesmerizes a cobra. “I'll pay you five-hundred-thousand dollars to have my baby.”

  Thank God he'd waited till she'd finished swallowing! That was more money than she could imagine, especially right now. But, it wasn't enough to completely guarantee a life for her, or for a baby.

  “I'll pay your living expenses while you're pregnant,” he continued, “and support him after he's born. My father left me more than enough money. Normally, I wouldn't give two shits about it, but I need it for my mom. Okay? This isn't even for me, and you'd still be making a killing on it.”

  All of her money problems would be taken care of. She could stop dodging Martin, the embodiment of filth that masqueraded as her landlord. Her mouth was suddenly dry, but she swallowed anyways.

  His eyes were steely, his voice made of granite. “My word is my bond. You'll be taken care of if you do this for me.”

  There was something about the determination in him, a weird sense of a rogue's integrity. He was unlike any man she'd ever met before. And here he was, a man who lived or died by his honor, staking that honor when he made this promise. Star knew she shouldn't believe him, but she did. She believed him with ever fiber of her being.

  But, still, that was probably just the liquor and beer believing for her. “When's my appointment with the doctor, then?” she asked, a heavy note of sarcasm dripping into her voice.

  “Doctor?” he asked, genuine surprise in his voice. “No doctors. We'd just do it the old-fashioned way.”

  “The old-fashioned way?”

  “You really are prim and proper, aren't you?” he asked.

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean,” he said with an oddly sexy curl of his lip, “we fuck.”

  “Listen,” she said. “I don't know you, and you don't know me.”

  “Perfect,” he said. “I want to keep this about making a baby.”

  “Not about raising one, then?”

  He shook his head. “The only thing I care about are my brothers, the Blood Warriors. You and I, we have a baby. I get paid, you get paid. Simple as that.”

  Star laughed a little, nervous about the conversation, and about how the man across the table from her was making her feel. She wanted to agree, if only because she might get to see what he had beneath that biker vest and tight black shirt if she did.

  “I don't even know your name,” she said, “and you don't even know mine.”

  “Tanner Rainier.”

  “Star Bentley.”

  “See? That simple. We're practically fucking already.”

  Laughing uneasily, she shook her head. “I don't really think practically fucking is enough to build a life around, or enough to make a decision. I'm the one who has to carry a baby for nine months, after all.”

  “How about this?” he asked. “How about we meet again tomorrow? When there's no beer involved?”

  “No shots, either,” Star said, taking another drink of beer.

  He nodded in agreement. “There's a park on the square, downtown near the courthouse. How about noon?”

  Star thought briefly about her busy schedule of sitting around being unemployed, before agreeing to the meet.

  “Good. Noon, then,” he said and vacated the booth with his beer. He nodded a goodbye to Jethro, and was headed for the door before Star had a chance to reconsider.

  Even though she was nervous about their meeting tomorrow, she watched as his perfect, tight-jeans-covered ass disappeared through the front door. Her eyes lingered, waiting to see if he'd come back in.

  “What in the hell have I gotten myself into?” Star wondered aloud before finishing her beer.

  Chapter Three

  Star

  The roar of the bike punched through the gentle quiet of Main Street as Tanner pulled up at the park. Star smirked a little to herself as she checked the time on her phone. Even though she'd only known Tanner for the space of one conversation, she could say one thing about him: he was punctual. It was exactly noon.

  She'd been up half the night, worried out of her mind that this was all a sham, and that the sexy biker had been pulling her leg. The other half, she'd been fretting about this not being a sham, and how she would handle the fallout of her decisions. Now, she sat there on the park bench, weighing all her choices.

  One thing she knew, though: it wasn't an option to just leave her life the way it was. What kind of existence was moving from low-rent apartment to low-rent apartment, having no one other than her friend Patricia to rely on, and working awful temp jobs where old businessmen just leered at her body while she got them coffee? No reliable man in her life. No husband. No children. Did she want that till she died? If so, what was the point?

  Star chewed on her lip as she watched him approach, as she traced her eyes down and around his strong, goateed jaw, over his slicked-back, wavy hair, and across his broad chest and massive arms. He looked even better ou
t here, in the warm light of day, than he had in the dingy, poorly lit Old Crow.

  She could feel herself getting excited as she thought about what it would be like if she signed this deal, if she climbed into bed with him. The feel of his flesh pressed against hers.

  She bet he'd fuck her like a real man, too. Not like any of those prissy, unstable flings she'd had.

  “You still in?” Tanner asked as he, wearing his MC vest and tight jeans just like the day before, came stomping through the neatly trimmed grass and planted himself right next to her. He had a big manilla envelope in one hand, and he slapped it down on the bench next to him.