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

by Naomi West

Both men exchanged glances again, with Tyke having an undeniable little grin on his lips.

  Tanner turned to the little old woman, smiling as pleasantly as he could. “Yes, ma'am, we are. We were actually wondering if you could help us find Aaron?”

  “Oh, that nephew of mine,” she said with a long sigh. “Always running off and disappearing. He doesn't tell me anything anymore. Not that he ever did, mind you. But the occasional call wouldn't be too much to ask for, would it?”

  “No, ma'am,” Tyke said, shaking his head vigorously. “We feel the exact same. We've been looking for him for days now, but he's not even answering his phone.”

  “Well,” she said after a moment, “I know he had been staying with some girlfriend of his, just until he got his own place. I don't necessarily approve of those kind of living arrangements, of course, but these modern kids and their ways still astound me. Why, back in my day, that kind of behavior just wasn't appropriate for proper individuals to engage in.”

  “Do you remember this girlfriend's name?” Tanner asked. “Or where she was living?”

  “Ashley, I think. No last name, I'm afraid.”

  Tyke looked at him, eyebrow raised. “Do we know any Ashleys?” his facial expression said.

  Tanner thought he knew of one, a girl who drank at the Old Crow sometimes. He knew she ran with bikers most of the time, but wasn't exclusive to any of the clubs in the area. Early twenties, cute in a trashy kind of way. He figured she'd be as good a place to start as any, and could probably start the hunt for her down at the Crow.

  “Does that help you?” Aaron's aunt asked. “Will that help you boys find my nephew?”

  “I think it will, ma'am,” Tanner said, a fake smile plastered on his face. “Have a wonderful day, now.”

  She beamed at her ability to help out the two nice, young men. “You too, dearie. Have a blessed day.”

  They were down off the porch and back onto their bikes in no time.

  “Crow?” Tyke asked.

  “Yep,” Tanner said. “Jethro can probably get us in touch with the girl. Then we can start there.”

  # # #

  They parked in the lot in front of the Regal, a roach motel of the highest order, and hopped off their bikes. It was one of those open-court styles, a single level with all the rooms facing out to the parking lot. A broken neon sign flashed on and off, advertising M-NTHLY RMS FOR RENT.

  Jethro, after a few well-placed phone calls, had led them to this place in search of Ashley. Apparently, she'd been staying in one of the rooms for the last few months. Together, the two men ambled down the sidewalk to her place.

  They skipped all the niceties on this one, and just pounded on the door. Inside, Tanner could hear movement, shuffling of stuff on tables. Whoever was in there, Ashley presumably, was worried they were the cops or something.

  “Ashley,” Tanner called through the door. “Open up. We just wanna talk to you.”

  “You the fucking pigs, man?”

  “No,” he replied, “we ain't the fucking pigs. We're here to ask you about Aaron.”

  “Aaron? Fuck that guy, man. He's a fucking asshole. I don't want anything to do with anyone who knows that son of a bitch.”

  “He ain't exactly our friend, neither,” Tyke said. “So just open the goddamn door and you can tell us all about how big of a fucking asshole he is.”

  She fiddled with the locks on her side and threw the door open.

  She was a petite blonde girl, barely over five feet tall, and maybe weighed a hundred pounds, with a shock of bright blue at the front of her hair. Piercings covered her ears and face, but didn't do much to distract from the giant shiner over one eye.

  Ashley pointed to her black eye. “That tell you enough?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Geez,” Tyke said. “Didn't expect it to get that descriptive.”

  She looked them up and down. “Hey, I know you guys. You're Blood Warriors, right?”

  “Yep,” Tyke said, propping himself up against the frame of the door with one hand. “That's us.”

  “You gonna kick his ass when you find him?” she asked.

  They didn't reply. The less they said, the better.

  “You guys wanna come in? Have a beer or something?”

  Tyke glanced towards Tanner, nearly begging with the look he was flashing him.

  Tanner shook his head, almost imperceptibly. They were here on business.

  “Really shouldn't,” Tyke said, his voice downtrodden.

  “You know where to find Aaron?” Tanner asked, wanting to make this quick. This chick looked like a classic club girl, a biker groupie with no shame. If he wasn't careful, she'd be pawing at Tyke like it was going out of style, and then he'd have to spend the next hour and a half trying to get the guy out of her clutches. “It's important.”

  She shook her head. “Nope. Last time I saw him was about a week ago. He disappeared one night when we were supposed to be hanging out. Got into an argument with him,” she said, pointing to her eye, “and he gave me this. Haven't seen the cocksucker since.”

  “Any idea where he might have gone?” Tanner asked. “Friends? Places he might layup?”

  “Checked his aunt's house?”

  Both men nodded.

  “Not there, huh?” She opened her mouth and played with her tongue ring, idly clicking it against her teeth. Beside Tanner, Tyke was mesmerized by the display.

  “How we found you,” Tanner replied.

  “Only other place I can think of is the Wolves clubhouse, then. No one else wants that psycho motherfucker around any more than I do.”

  “Thanks,” Tanner said, slapping the frame of the door and turning around. He grabbed Tyke and pulled him along, and made sure the poor bastard's tongue was rolled up back in his mouth first.

  “You kick that motherfucker’s ass when you see him!” she yelled after them as they left.

  So, that was it, then. He was probably at the clubhouse, if only because no one else would let him stick around. Looks like they were back to square one. But, on the bright side, he had to come out of there sometime. A man wasn't meant to be a caged animal. Especially not if that man was a biker.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Star

  Star was sitting at Patricia's kitchen table, sipping her morning coffee, when the doorbell rang.

  Patricia, who was seated right across from her, didn't even bother to say anything. Instead, she just raised an eyebrow and exchanged a knowing look with her friend. They both knew who was ringing the bell, and they both knew how Star felt about talking to him. This had become a weird sort of ritual for the two of them.

  Star grabbed her cup and took another sip, slowly blinking her eyes. She'd be damned if she was going to get up.

  “Guess I'll be right back,” Patricia said, slightly exasperated by the whole situation. Star knew her friend hadn't signed up for this, and she loved her all the more for dealing with it. Patricia's chair squealed over the linoleum as she pushed back from the table and got up to go answer the door.

  Star didn't even watch her go. She couldn't blame Patricia for feeling at her wit's end about the situation. She felt the same way. But, she didn't know how to fix it.

  Patricia opened the door. “Hi Tanner,” she said in a singsong voice before it was even all the way open. “How are you today?”

  “Hi Patricia,” Tanner said back in his standard issue biker growl. Star swore they tested the recruits before they got their patches, just to make sure they were surly-sounding enough. “Star around?”

  “Nope,” Patricia replied quickly, automatically. “You just missed her.”

  Star could have recorded Patricia's responses from the last few weeks on one recorder, and Tanner's on another, then just played back this exact same conversation back over and over. The little trick would have at least saved him the daily trip to come over here. And, of course, it would save Patricia the hassle of having to turn him away every time.

  “Well
, I need to see her,” he said, and paused. “I want to see her. Can you tell her I came by?”

  “Sure thing!” Patricia said, her voice artificially chipper, especially for this time of day.

  “Thanks, Patricia.”

  “No problem!”

  Patricia shut the door quietly and came back to the kitchen. “He cares about you,” she said as she sat back down.

  “I know.”

  “Why don't you just go back to him, then?”

  “There's no ‘going back,’” Star replied as she fidgeted with her coffee cup and spun it in her hands. “We weren't ever official, or serious.”

  “Serious enough to have a baby together.”

  Star glared at her friend. “You know what that was about.”

  “I know,” Patricia relented, clearly calling for peace before an argument started, “I know. But, geez. Star, I know I was against this guy from the get-go, but . . .”

  “But?” Star asked as she stared down at her hands and fidgeted with them.

  “But,” Patricia said, emphasizing the word, “I gotta give the guy credit for holding out like this. Not many guys would show up every single day just to be turned away. This is like some Tibetan monastery crap.”

  Star chuckled.

  “So, he's some sort of spiritual seeker coming up to the top of the mountain every day?”

  “Right,” Patricia said, her coffee mug half-way to her lips, “struggling to get to the top, even through blizzards and over glaciers. And you're the grouchy Zen master.”

  Star rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  “Look,” her friend said as she put her coffee back down, “I'm going to level with you. I don't care if you live here for the rest of your life. We can grow up and be spinsters together, and raise this child of yours in a loveless pseudo-lesbian relationship. Dead-bed that shit all the way, only occasionally dragging neighborhood pool-boys into our bed when the sexual frustration becomes too great.”

  Star, still looking down at her hands, smiled at her friend's joke.

  “But, you'd be miserable doing that. I'm fine with being alone. I have Mr. Wiggles, and I'm okay with the loveless, sexless life ahead of me. You, dear Star, are not. And, do you know how I know?”

  “How?” Star asked as she glanced up at her friend.

  “You could have put a restraining order on this guy weeks ago. He's showing up at the house, harassing you, calling you, and you haven't seen him or answered the phone in weeks. But, you haven't even thought of calling the cops. Have you?”

  Star sighed. “Yeah, I've thought about it.”

  “Fine,” Patricia said. “You've thought about it, but probably only for like two seconds. You haven't done anything, though.”

  Star shook her head. “It just doesn't seem right. He's going to be the father of my child. How could I put a restraining order on my child's father? But, you were right back when all this shit started. I just don't think I could handle his lifestyle. It's too much. I can't ever have a family with a man like that. His life, and his home life, are just too different.”

  “Different from your family?” Patricia asked with a chuckle. “And that's a bad thing?”

  “No, it's not that,” Star said, shaking her head again. “I mean, different from what I wanted. What I still want.”

  Patricia rolled her eyes. “So, every single thing about every single person has to be perfect, and exactly as you imagined in your little dream-world fantasy? Girl, it's hard work to share a life with someone you love. Even Mr. Wiggles gets on my nerves sometimes.”

  “Hey,” Star said, “I never said I loved him.”

  “Oh?” Patricia replied with a knowing grin. “Well, I don't think I've ever asked. So, do you?”

  “Love him?” Star asked.

  “Well . . .?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Spit it out, girl!” Patricia said, frustrated at the dancing around.

  “Yeah,” she said, nodding slowly. She looked up at her friend. “I think I do.”

  “Star, honey,” Patricia said, reaching across the table to touch her hand, “life never turns out exactly the way we expect. Do you think I originally wanted to end up with Mr. Wiggles as my life partner? I've always been a dog girl.”

  Star laughed. “But you love Mr. Wiggles.”

  “Exactly. But, I never would have known that if I hadn't just lived my life and taken a chance.”

  Star rolled her eyes again. “I can't believe I've sunk so low that I'm taking relationship advice from a crazy prematurely-old cat lady.”

  “Prematurely-old cat ladies give the best relationship advice. The kitty cats whisper the answers to all life's questions to us at night. Their sweet purrs are actually genuine words of wisdom.”

  “Shut up, Patricia,” Star said, holding back her laughter.

  Patricia grinned and readjusted her glasses. “So, you going to go find him? Do I get to witness the ending of one of those rom-coms? Or am I stuck with you ‘til my dying day?”

  “There'd have to be some comedy first, wouldn't there? Home invasions and abductions don't exactly fit into that kind of film. But, yeah, I'll go find him. Happy now?”

  “Yes,” Patricia said as her cat, a fat white tom, jumped up into her lap and began purring for attention. “And so is Mr. Wiggles.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Star

  Star spent the next hour or so getting ready, including a shower with a fresh razor up and down her legs. She picked a nice skirt and top, something she felt sexy in, with some risqué underwear. If things went as planned, Tanner would appreciate them.

  That was, of course, if things went according to plan.

  Star got in her little hatchback and drove out to the Old Crow, first. She steeled herself in the parking lot before going in. Jethro luckily remembered her from her earlier job application, but shook his head at her question about Tanner.

  “Nope. Ain't seen him today. Check down at the clubhouse. He's been there or at his ma's house most days, lately.”

  If Jethro knew anything about what had been going on between her and Tanner, his acting was good enough that he'd have been up for an Oscar come January.

  “Thanks,” Star said. “Mind giving me directions out there? It's my first time.”

  “Sure,” Jethro said and began drawing out a small, stripped down map on a cocktail napkin for her.

  She took the makeshift directions from him, then walked back out to her car. She got in on the driver's side, took another deep breath, and started the old beater up. It surged to life, then sputtered but kept running.

  Her nerves were wrecked. She hadn't realized how nervous she was until she'd actually walked into the bar to find Tanner. Now, all her worries about how he would react, whether they could fix their problems, and if he would accept her back into his life, began to rear their ugly head. She really hoped she hadn't screwed everything up.

  She put the car in drive, pulled it around, and hopped back on the highway. She glanced down at her napkin-map and headed for the Blood Warriors clubhouse.

  Twice, Star almost pulled the car over and just turned around. Twice, though, she kept her foot on the gas pedal and kept going. This was the right thing to do, she reminded herself, the right thing for her future child, and the right thing for her. Tanner was a good man, if a little rough around the edges. She loved him; she cared about him.

  And, God, those abs, and those arms. And that smile of his.

  She realized, too, how much she missed his bike. Driving in the car just wasn't the same. A car was like an extension of your living room, a little protected box with a radio and an air-conditioner, that kept you separated from the world.

  On Tanner's bike, she had felt connected to everything. Every little bump in the road, the tang of the exhaust that smelled like tar, the sting of the wind on her face. Driving in a car kept you from the world, made you separate and apart.

  She braked as, up ahead, she saw the turn-off Jethro had marke
d on the map. She pulled over onto the narrow, paved back road and began searching for the clubhouse. According to the map, it was nestled a ways back from the main road.

  Less than a quarter-mile down the road, she saw the array of wood and steel buildings with the parking lot full of motorcycles. She pulled in and parked next to a row of hogs, her little rundown hatchback looking even more out of place.

  She saw Tanner's bike parked near the front door, seemingly in a place of honor.