Caught (Grave Diggers MC Book 2)

by Michelle Woods

  “Ah, well, you won’t hear me judging and if she knew the truth about my life she’d really hate me as your boyfriend.” Gunner let out a strained chuckle, shaking his head.

  “Oooh, sounds juicy. Dish, why would she hate you?” Lisa asked, her brows wiggling. He debated for a moment, glancing around to see who was close enough to hear their conversation before answering because he didn’t want his mother treated poorly because of who he ran with.

  “I’m a rider for the Diggers MC.” Gunner whispered, deciding to trust her discretion.

  “No shit?” Gunner nodded when she sent him a questioning look.

  “Wow, she really would have a hissy fit over that,” Lisa said laughing. “And to think she is all bent about Tim. I won’t tell her, but if I could, I can just see the look of abject horror on her face.”

  Gunner shared her laughter and the two of them spent another thirty minutes chatting; both appreciating the chance to let down their guard and be themselves for a few minutes. It didn’t last long because as soon as the food was served, they were forced to socialize with other people. Gunner got his plate and decided to see if he could find a quiet place to breathe for a moment. His mother had introduced him to three more women and two of them were particularly annoying. He needed a minute to just calm down so he didn’t end up telling them to fuck off when they approached him.

  He spotted Lisa talking to a man as he walked away from the socializing groups. She crossed her eyes looking at her nose when she noticed him. Gunner chuckled, silently asking if she needed help getting rid of the guy with a little shrug and a bit of pointing. Lisa shook her head motioning for him to escape. He nodded heading off towards a little bench he saw over by a cropping of trees nearby. Gunner wasn’t one to play knight-in-shining-armor to any woman’s damsel-in-destress. If she didn’t want help, he wasn’t offering it. Wanting to avoid the people at the nearby tables, he walked around to sit beneath the tree, rather than on the bench.

  He began to eat some of the dumplings he’d gotten from the table, groaning because they were damned good. He tucked in eating most of the food he’d piled on his plate while periodically taking sips of the lemonade, wishing it was something stronger. Anything to get him through the rest of this picnic. He would likely have to stay at least another forty minutes before he could make his escape from this living nightmare.

  Reaching up, he tugged at the cloth prison that his neck was still begging to escape from and set his plate aside. He’d left a few scraps on it, but that was it. He leaned his head back into the tree, about to get in a little catnap when he heard Katy Perry belting out Firework. Shocked at the sound of the music from this stuffed shirt group he glanced around the tree looking for the source.

  “Damn, damn, stop. Oh God, please stop.” A soft tantalizing, almost sensual voice hissed from inside the thick bushes beside him. His cock twitched in his pants, its interest piqued by the erotic sound. Gunner raised a brow as he peered into the brush trying to see the woman who went with that sexy as fuck voice.

  Chapter Two

  She felt like a moron. She was hiding in a bush for cripes’ sake. For over thirty minutes, she’d been playing a game on her phone trying to distract herself from this ridiculous excuse for a picnic. She let out a little snort, because to her mother this was a meat market—not a picnic. Margo had heard about nearly every man in attendance. She wasn’t surprised, her mother collected her information from various mothers, sisters, and even the men themselves. Margo was lucky she hadn’t asked them for their penis size. Of course, to her mother sex was a sin unless it was between a husband and wife.

  If she only knew that Margo wasn’t a virgin and hadn’t been since high school, she’d likely faint dead away from horrified shock. Margo reached down bending a stick that was poking her in the back, breaking it off and tossing it away. She was a normal woman with needs, but Margo knew if she’d tried to tell her overly-religious mother that, she would freak. It wasn’t like Margo was promiscuous, but she’d had her fair share of relationships and they’d included sex.

  Her mother thought she was still the same kid she’d sent off to Yale four years ago. Margo wasn’t that wide-eyed, way-too-young kid, who’d graduated high school a year early and headed off to college with a full scholarship. Somehow, she’d still found a way to disappoint her mother even by attending Yale a year before she was supposed to and graduating with honors. Margo scratched her neck, her ability to care about her mother’s displeasure with her only living daughter had burned away long ago.

  Margo’s appalling secret that had shamed her mother eternally—she’d majored in art. It really shouldn’t have caused her mother embarrassment, but according to her, it did. Nothing Margo did was ever good enough for Helen Dexter. Margo had learned that lesson long before she’d went off to college. Whatever—she was done seeking her mother’s approval and always coming up short. Margo decided before she left home that her mother was beyond pleasing and she needed to do what she loved. Art soothed her, and her love for it led her to get a bachelor’s degree in fine arts. Now she could paint and teach art at the local community college three nights a week. It wasn’t what her mother had wanted for her, which was why she was trying to push Margo to find a husband so she could at the very least get a dozen grandchildren. Only the joke was on her because Margo couldn’t have children.

  Margo felt a sting in her eyes, but refused to give in to the feelings of inadequacy that her emergency hysterectomy still caused. She’d been nineteen when she’d missed several periods and realized she was pregnant. She’d been so happy, despite her boyfriend’s lack of reasonability and his leaving her, at least for about three weeks.

  That was when she’d miscarried. Margo still remembered the pain that tore through her and the horrified realization that she’d just lost her baby. Even two years later, she wasn’t over the hurt that night had caused her. It broke her heart that she’d never get to try again because that night, despite trying, the doctors couldn’t stop the bleeding. Her uterus had prolapsed. It was what had caused the miscarriage to begin with, and when they’d run out of options they’d taken her uterus to save her life.

  She wasn’t sorry they had saved her, she didn’t want to be dead, but it still hurt that she’d never be able to offer children to the man she loved. It would be a heartbreaking conversation to have with that fictional man she would love. She felt a tear slide down her cheek and dashed it away with her sleeve. Enough, she told her circling thoughts. She’d gotten off the real reason for her ire, her mother. Helen Dexter’s wacky way of looking at the world meant her daughter must be a virgin.

  Ha, as if.

  Seeing what was right in front of her face wasn’t Helen’s strong suit and never had been. Helen’s idea about how the world worked was the reason Margo had been forced to take out her nose ring and change out of her normal punky goth style clothing. Margo liked her style that she’d created while she was in art school, adding funky pieces to the loud plaids and black clothing she loved. Her mother hated everything she wore. When Margo had arrived at her house today, she’d forced Margo to strip and put on this green dress that reached her ankles and gave her skin a sickly green hue. Helen Dexter had then demanded that she remove her nose ring and jewelry because Margo was a Dexter and Dexter’s did not look like devil worshipers. The last bit was due to a skull ring she’d had on and Margo had only rolled her eyes at the ridiculous comment. Thankfully, her mother didn’t know that the streaks of blue in Margo’s dirty blond hair weren’t permanent or she’d have had her in the shower washing it out before they came here.

  Allowing her mother to force her into this dress had been a mistake, but she still felt guilty that she hadn’t told Helen about her miscarriage or the resulting infertility it had caused. That guilt was why she was here today, truthfully. She’d wanted to refuse her mother because she hated these church functions, and had since she was ten. That was the day Jonny Landry had called her fat. Margo had hated being called that. S
he wasn’t fat then, nor was she now. She was pleasingly plump. She carried a few more pounds than was currently in fashion, but she was only a size ten. If society’s standards weren’t so skewed, she’d be perfect.

  At least some part of her wasn’t fake today, her blue streaked hair was still hers. She could claim that at least. She glanced at the time, hoping the next hour would hurry the hell up. She wanted to go home and sitting in these bushes was getting old fast. She heard a rustling sound and peeked out of the bush to see a man wearing a light blue shirt and khaki pants sit down near her hiding spot. Damn, she really hoped he wouldn’t see her. She shifted a little trying to be sure she could only see him through a small opening in the brush. At least this horrid green dress was good for something—blending in with the trees around her. She snorted looking out at the man.

  Margo wasn’t in the mood to deal with another man from this church today. She wasn’t joining her mother’s restrictive lifestyle and that’s what every man here seemed to want. She peeked out as the man sat down. He looked to be about six feet tall, with large muscular shoulders that looked almost too broad, and his skin—what she could see of it—was tanned a golden brown that reminded her of bronze. His cheekbones were chiseled and rugged-looking and his lips were slightly thinner than they should be. From where she was, she couldn’t tell if it was a scar along his jaw, or a bit of dust. Her heart picked up a little as she suddenly imagined painting him and not in that shirt either.

  A little smile curled her lips, her nudes were another source of shame for her mother—who still insisted that she should be more like Holly, her deceased older sister, who’d died in a plane crash on her way back from a two-year mission trip. Holly had been the perfect Dexter according to her mother. She’d been seven years older than Margo and she’d died when Margo was fifteen. Margo, on the other hand, had never measured up to her mother’s standards. Not even when she’d been trying to be the perfect daughter. As a young teen, Margo had worked hard in school, joined the church’s youth group, and lost weight to the point of almost becoming anorexic, but none of it seemed to matter. She’d still been found lacking by her mother.

  She studied the back of the man’s head, her mind a million miles away. Her distracted brain noticed a spider tattoo peeking from the back of the man’s collar when he reached up pulling at it roughly. She was surprised it didn’t rip since he was tugging at it so hard. Margo leaned forward a bit, trying to get a better view of the man. As she did, a teasing aroma of her aunt Marie’s chicken and dumplings tugged at her nose, making her mouth water.

  Margo felt her stomach growl and wondered if she should crawl out of the bush and chance getting something to eat. Only the remembrance of Kevin—a skinny man with beady eyes, that made her think he might be a child molester or maybe a stalker, kept her hidden. He’d asked her three times when she was going to join the church mixers that they had for singles. After the second misdirect hadn’t worked, she’d dodged that question and any more he had planned for her by claiming she needed the restroom and escaped to her current hiding place. It was kind of sad really, she was currently hiding in a bush trying not to deal with her mother’s insane matchmaking. Her stomach twisted making the decision for her.

  Margo leaned forward peeking at the food when he paused. Crap, did he hear her? How would she explain her presence in the bushes? Dang, she’d have to wait till he left so she didn’t embarrass herself by crawling out of the bushes. She could see it now, her crawling from the bush and nodding to him. “Don’t mind me. I was just hiding here to get away from all the idiots at this picnic.”

  Yeah, that would be perfect. He’d think she was an asshole—or worse, insane. Not that she cared, she just didn’t want to hear her mother go into hysterics and complain about how Margo had embarrassed her again. Guilt only went so far and hers was already wearing thin. She knew from experience that pleasing her mother was impossible. After almost twenty-two years of not being good enough for her, Margo didn’t bother to try anymore.

  She settled back, hoping he ate in a hurry and left because she was so hungry she was tempted to steal his plate. Margo felt a smile tug at her lips at the thought of the large man’s reaction to that. Would he grumble or stare in shock? Hmm…the thought of him rumbling out a husky protest made her body tingle in places that hadn’t seen action in more than a year.

  Margo shook herself and sat back down, she needed to get a grip. She didn’t want anything to do with a man who went to this church. She forced herself to look at her phone, hitting restart on the Candy Crush level she was playing. Her stomach was temporarily distracted by her concentration on the game which was frustrating her. Suddenly, she heard fireworks—her best friend’s ringtone—blare out of her phone making her jump, shaking the bushes.

  “Crap, crap, stop. Oh God, please stop.” She hissed trying to shut it off before the man nearby heard it, but from the way his head whipped toward her position in the bush, she was too late. Why did Zoey have to call right now? He was staring hard at the bushes with his brow raised for a long moment before he spoke.

  “You know if you’re hiding, you should really silence your ringtone.” The man’s whiskey smooth voice stated as he peered into the brush trying to get a look at her. Sinking back further into the bushes not wanting him to see her, she felt her cheeks heat.

  “Thanks for the tip,” she muttered, her temper rising to the surface at the snarky comment. Her hand shoved her phone back in her pocket hoping he would leave and give her a chance to escape with some of her dignity intact.

  “Sure thing,” he said, as he leaned back against the tree closing his eyes. Margo thought maybe it was over and she’d just been dismissed when he didn’t say anything for about ten minutes.

  Just when she was about to release her tensed muscles and relax, his hard voice broke the silence. “You going to come out of there?”

  “No,” Margo snapped, her eyes narrowed.

  “Huh, who you are hiding from, sugar?” he grunted after another one of those long pauses.

  “Is that any of your concern? No, it’s not. I’m hiding, that means it’s my business,” Margo muttered, her hands pressing down on the ground making the leaves rustle. She clenched her jaw, trying not to tell him that he was a jerk and needed to leave. She stopped herself from making that demand because she could already tell he’d be more likely to stay, just to annoy her.

  “You’re a snippy little thing, aren’t you?” he observed, his eyes on the bush, his look thoughtful.

  “I am not. And how do you know I’m little? I could be ten feet tall for all you know.”

  “No, you’re definitely snippy. As for being ten feet tall we both know that’s not possible with the size of that bush you’re hiding in. If you weren’t little you’d never be able to hide in there. You know they’ve brought out the food, right?” he asked, still looking thoughtful.

  “I know.” Margo felt her stomach twist again at the thought of food. Darn it, she really was hungry.

  “Not hungry, or not willing to come out of hiding?” he asked her, his face split by a slight grin.

  “The second.” She allowed to slip out unwillingly.

  “Tell me why you’re hiding and I might be tempted to get you a plate.” He offered, his hand rising to tug at his collar again.

  “Why don’t you just unbutton that collar?” Margo couldn’t help her curious response to his constant tugging.

  “My mother would be disappointed if I did.”

  “I won’t tell her if you go get me a plate of the dumplings my aunt brought.” Margo bargained.

  “Nope. I told you what I wanted to go get you a plate and you haven’t offered up anything yet.”

  “Why do you want to know?” She demanded, her hand rubbing a spot on her leg that itched. Something must have bitten her because it was itching like crazy.

  “Call me curious. Just want to know why anyone would hide in the bushes.”

  “Aren’t you hiding behind a tree? Thi
s isn’t any of your business.” Margo knew what she’d said was bitchy but she was hiding in the bushes because she didn’t want to deal with men at this picnic and she didn’t want to tell this bronzed hottie that.

  “Okay, well. Have fun,” he said, but he didn’t get up and leave. He just leaned against the tree with his eyes closed again; his arms positioned behind his head. Margo waited for about ten minutes before she couldn’t take it anymore and growled.

  “Aren’t you leaving?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not? Don’t you have something to do?” Margo couldn’t believe how shrill her voice was. She was normally pretty patient and she was rarely shrewish. Something about this man annoyed her. He just rubbed her the wrong way and she couldn’t put her finger on why.

  “Not today,” he grunted, a smile twisting his hard-male lips as he continued to lie back on the tree, as if he had nothing to be concerned about.

  “Fine. Some idiots think I would be the perfect wife and they won’t leave me alone,” Margo muttered, her anger seeping into the harsh tone of her voice as she shifted slightly trying to relieve the tension in her lower back.

  “Ah, okay then.” He stood up suddenly and he grabbed his plate off the ground. His movement was so abrupt that she jumped. Rattling the bushes, she fell back into the hard sticks behind her, scratching her back.

  “Dang,” she muttered, her arms flailing as she tried to right herself, but she found nothing to grab onto.

  “Need help?” he asked, a chuckle escaping him as he towered over the bush she was in.

  “No,” she muttered as she finally managed to use her stomach muscles to right herself. They screamed in protest at their forced enslavement, but she managed to sit up, finally.

  “Stubborn,” he snorted. Margo didn’t appreciate his tone.

  “Look just go away.”

  “Didn’t you want me to play knight-in-shining armor and get you some food?” he asked, making Margo grit her teeth because she already didn’t like this big brute. If she painted him, he’d have two horns and a tail or the painting wouldn’t capture how much of a jerk he truly was. Her lips curled slightly as she pictured him in nothing but horns and a tail. Her body softened and she found herself wondering what his golden skin felt like. Dang, she needed to get her mind out of the gutter, she mentally scolded herself.