Billionaire Biker's Secret Baby_A Bad Boy Romantic Suspense

by Weston Parker

  I bend to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, Mom,” I say, getting a little choked up. This woman has always been there for me. Through teenage pregnancy and everything that came after. Words can’t begin to describe my gratitude.

  “Don’t thank me,” she says, holding out her hand with a grin. “Just give me another one of those cookies.”

  5

  Ax

  Delilah is right where I left her.

  That morning, heading toward the shack behind the cabin, I experienced a moment of harrowing doubt. What if my brother decided to fuck me even harder, to betray me in a more meaningful way than having me tossed in prison?

  What if he’d stolen Delilah?

  Destroyed her?

  Defiled her in some unholy fashion?

  But here she is, as beautiful now as the day I was forced to leave her behind. The tarp that protected her tossed away, I can see her sleek lines and dangerous curves.

  I spend some time tinkering with her, charging the battery, draining and replacing fluids. I shine her up, making sure she is road ready. Then I shower and change, cleaning up after myself.

  Finally, morning having become afternoon, I prepare to embark on my mission of revenge. Holding my breath, I try to start Delilah. Before long, she’s purring under me, the familiar vibration making me smile. There’s something so satisfying about a beautiful creature between your thighs.

  I walk her out of the shack and then climb aboard, going slow down the overgrown driveway until I reach the gravel road. It’s a couple of miles to pavement, and when I hit it, I give her some gas. Delilah jumps under me, and before long, we’re eating up the highway.

  It’s my first full day of freedom, and with my motorcycle growling beneath me, things almost feel right.

  Then I remind myself that freedom is fleeting and revenge feels better. It’s time to implement the first part of my plan: Get noticed.

  That shouldn’t be hard, not with Delilah as my companion. I prowl down Main Street, heads turning in my direction. It won’t be long before word gets back to my brother.

  I stick to the downtown streets, not venturing as far as The Office. I want my brother to know I’m here, but I don’t want to approach him as a direct threat. Not yet.

  Let him worry about when I’m going to show my face. Maybe it will force his hand. There’s no way Brent doesn’t know I’m out of jail. I have no illusion about justice being blind. I’m positive he has men on the inside he pays. Guards. Informants.

  Prison isn’t easy, but when a man is as picked on as me, he becomes paranoid. Take the fish who’d stabbed me a few months before my release. Why would a man who doesn’t know me from Adam risk coming after me like that, entirely unprovoked?

  Could it be because he’s on my brother’s payroll?

  Which means, perhaps, Brent didn’t want me to get out of prison at all, let alone come back to Cape Craven.

  It seems my brother has underestimated me now, as I’d underestimated him in the past. But never again. Brent is a dangerous foe, one I need to focus all my attention on if I expect the plan to go off hitchless and vengeance to be mine. He’s smart, my brother, and I bet he hasn’t been wasting the time I was inside, either. I’ve got to expect he’ll be coming for me, one way or the other.

  That means I need to keep the element of surprise on my side, at least for now. Let him wonder what I’m doing around town, who I’m talking to. Let him worry about what I’ve got up my sleeve.

  He has to know I’ll be coming for him. But I don’t need to telegraph how and when.

  I pass the diner and decide to stop on a whim. It has been five years since I’ve had Mabel’s waffles. No reason to make it five years and a day. I park the bike behind the diner and head toward the street.

  I enter the restaurant, the bell attached to the door announcing my presence. Behind the counter is the owner and proprietor, a large woman with brunette curls and an unrepentant accent. Everyone in the town loves Mabel, and not just for her cooking. She’s a fine Southern woman with a big heart to match her oversized proportions.

  “Come on in, sugar!” she says cheerfully from behind the counter. Moving forward, armed with a menu, she stops in her tracks when she recognizes me. “Well if it isn’t the older Craven boy.” She eyes me up and down, and I know she’s recalling my backstory. “You look good,” she says at last, then smiles. “Sit down in that first booth there and let Mabel take care of you.”

  I guess I still got it, I think, ignoring the menu she hands me. “I want waffles. Whipped cream. Side of bacon. And coffee. Lots of cream. Lots of sugar.”

  She laughs. “I like a man who knows what he wants. Sit down, handsome, and I’ll get your coffee.”

  Sliding into the booth, I take a look around. Like the rest of the town, little has changed in Mabel’s Diner. Bright red vinyl booths, matching vinyl-wrapped stools along the large counter. Windows looking out onto Main Street.

  The town is going about a normal Tuesday, it seems. The mail truck drives past, and a couple of women pushing strollers work their way up the street. A cup of coffee appears in front of me, a light brown color. I drink and sigh approvingly.

  I hear a noise, suddenly familiar, and train my eyes on the street. A car shambles into the lot, and my heart stops in my chest. I know that car, would know it anywhere. Just like I know the pair of shapely legs that appear at the opened door.

  My holy fuck. Sabrina Jacobs, here and now.

  She climbs up the three short steps and heads in the door, rushing toward the counter. “Hey, Mabel,” she says to the woman through the window into the kitchen. “Thanks for the rush order. I realized that I have nothing to fix for lunch.”

  I study her. She’s as perfect today as she’d been in high school if not more beautiful now. Her golden hair is swept up into an unruly ponytail, accentuating her youthful face. Those big blue eyes nearly gut me, and I’m afraid of having them turned in my direction again, almost more than I long for it.

  Her body is as trim as it’s always been, those curves still hitting all the right places. Sabrina has never been overly voluptuous, but she’s been “just right,” in the parlance of the fairytale bears. A little Goldilocks that this hungry bear would love to find in his bed.

  I’d show her how “just right” feels. All night long.

  “No sweat, Brina, honey.” Mabel comes around the corner, carrying a stack of Styrofoam containers. “Here you go. That will be $10.50.”

  “Thanks, Mabel,” she says, pulling out a few bills and setting them down. “Syrup in here?”

  “You know it.”

  I realize then that Sabrina is about to leave. I should let her go about her business, let her leave. Whenever Sabrina had come up in my thoughts during the five long years I’d honed my plot for revenge, I’d always told myself that I’d keep her out of things.

  I wouldn’t even let her know that I was back in town. I’d do the terrible things I’d planned to do and go, likely heading back to my cell at Tabor Correctional.

  But seeing her now, I know I can’t do that. It’s like some strange compulsion inside me, forcing me to stand up and approach her, even as my mind screams at me to abort. I silently sidle up behind her and put my hands over her eyes.

  “Bet you can’t guess who.”

  I expect her to react as he did before, in the general store five years ago. Instead, in a heinous rewriting of our past interaction, she lets out a gasp and drops the Styrofoam containers. Whirling around, her eyes widen when she sees me.

  “You’re out.”

  I nod, then bend down to pick up the containers. They’re scattered, upside down. Mabel shakes her head and holds out her hands. “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll get you some new ones.”

  “Fuck,” I hear Sabrina mutter under her breath.

  With a neutral expression, I turn to her. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “I’m a little jumpy these days,” she says, eyes averted. Sabrina is stiff, awkward. Things feel
nothing like they did before. What’s happened to change things?

  Oh yeah. How about five years in maximum security prison?

  “How are you?”

  She licks her lips, and a shock of electricity hits my chest and heads straight for my dick. Calm down, boy.

  “Not bad,” she says, her voice a little rough. “You?”

  I shrug. “Freedom has its benefits.”

  I wasn’t referring to her as a benefit when I said the words, but I realize how they sound when her brows shoot up.

  Sabrina’s gaze flits to the kitchen, and I notice again how nervous she is. That nervousness bothers me. I don’t like it.

  “So what’s new in Cape Craven?” I ask, leaning against the counter. I know she’s a captive audience for the next eight minutes or so while Mabel remakes her lunch order.

  Sabrina runs her hand through her hair, further disheveling her ponytail. “Well, you know—same old, same old.”

  I fight back a frown. Sabrina is usually more forthcoming. We’ve been friends for most of our lives. Friends and more. Why is she suddenly so cagey?

  “How’s your momma?”

  Her eyes finally find mine again. “She’s been better. We had an icy winter, and she slipped and fractured her hip pretty bad. The rehab has been rough.”

  “That’s too bad,” I say, meaning it. Having to take care of a parent can’t be easy. “Anything I can do to help?”

  The words blurt out before I can stop them. Her face freezes, and I wonder what she thinks of the offer and what it might mean.

  “What are you doing back in Cape Craven?” she asks after a moment.

  “Just here to work out some family details,” I say lightly.

  Sabrina frowns. “A quick trip back to the estate? Just like last time?”

  My expression hardens. I want to deny it, but I can’t. I’d been here less than a month last time before I got arrested and shipped off to Tabor Correctional. And if I have my way and my plot works, I’ll likely be back in Tabor before you can say “parole violation.”

  The silence stretches between us and too soon Mabel returns, a fresh stack of Styrofoam in her hands. Sabrina hurries forward, grabbing the boxes and turning toward the door. “Thanks again, Mabel. And I’m sorry!”

  “Wait,” the round woman says. “Your change, sugar!”

  “Keep it.”

  Sabrina is pushing her way out the door when I decide to follow her. My mind is screaming at me to stop, to leave her alone. It would be better if I let her go, better than turning this into something it can never be.

  “Hey,” I say, jogging down the steps behind her. “Got a minute?”

  “Not really,” she says over her shoulder as she heads for her car.

  I laugh. “Come on, Sabrina. It’s me. The guy who single-handedly convinced the marching band to play ‘Umbrella’ for you when I asked you to the prom.”

  She sets the containers on the roof of her car while she shoves the key in the lock. “They sounded horrible,” she says, opening the door.

  “They only had a week to practice,” I reply.

  Sabrina shakes her head, standing outside her beat-to-shit vehicle. “You could have given them more time to prepare.”

  “If you’ll remember, you’d broken up with me earlier that month. So I couldn’t ask you to the prom before you took me back.”

  “Ah yes,” she says, taking a step toward me and filling me with my first hint of hope. “You’d been flirting with Andrea Mitchell. You kissed her behind the shop trailer.”

  “Lies,” I say, taking a step forward. “Frank Dawson spread that rumor because he wanted to get under your shirt. That boy stared at your boobs like they held all the secrets of the universe.”

  “They do.” Sabrina lifts her chin in the air and smiles imperiously.

  “They sure do.” I nod, moving forward quickly until I’m close enough to touch her. But I don’t.

  “What are you doing here, Ax?” she whispers, and my name on her lips sends electricity racing through me.

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t concern you.”

  Her face tightens, and she turns away, moving toward her car door. I grab her elbow. “Wait.”

  She looks at me, her face unreadable. “Have dinner with me,” I say, remembering how our last dinner had ended and desperately wanting to repeat the experience.

  “No.”

  The word hits me like a brick. Before I can ask her why, she’s in her car and slamming the door. She cranks the key, and nothing happens. I start knocking on her window.

  “Come on,” she says clenching her teeth, cranking the key again. Her motor makes a sick sound as it starts to turn over.

  I knock harder, and she pumps the gas, finally getting the car going. I see her let out a big breath, and I knock harder still.

  “What?” she yells at last, turning to me in exasperation.

  I mime rolling down the window.

  She lets out a sigh, then rolls down the window which squeaks in protest. “What?”

  “Your lunch?”

  Sabrina looks at me, her expression broadcasting her confusion. I reach to her roof where the Styrofoam containers rest and pick them up, slowly transferring them to the window.

  She lets out a groan of frustration, grabbing the boxes and pulling them into the car. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  She backs out of the space, giving me a nod, then heads into the street. I watch her go, telling myself it’s for the best.

  I’ve never been good at convincing myself to believe my own lies.

  6

  Sabrina

  The house is quiet when I return. Mom is resting in her armchair for once, eyes closed, a 24-hour news stations softly murmuring in the background.

  The kitchen is empty when I set down the lunch containers, just like it’s been for most of the day. After a dinner during which she sat sullenly like her mouth was glued shut, Lex had stormed to her room and hasn’t shown her face since, other than to flounce to the bathroom and back.

  All attempts to talk to her have so far been met with defeat. But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up. I sit at the small kitchen table and flip open one of the containers, pulling out the BLT I ordered and taking a bite. I just need to recharge my battery for round two with the nine-year-old.

  As I eat, I can’t help thinking about what just went down at Mabel’s. I spent the ride home purposely forcing myself not to think about it, but I can’t hold back any longer. Ax Craven is back in town. He’s out of prison and has returned to the scene of his crime.

  But why?

  That explains the hubbub at The Office yesterday. Brent must be ready to shit the proverbial brick over this one. He testified against his brother and spent the last five years soaking up the town’s sympathy while building a case for Ax’s permanent banishment.

  Brent made his appearance in the town proper after his older brother left for the military. Having been tutored privately and not one for leaving the estate often, few had known much about the younger Craven son. It was almost as if he put on a public relations campaign to build goodwill once he began to take an active interest in the town.

  At first, he’d interned at the foundation with the rest of the high schoolers the summer before he left for college. Then he’d come home every summer with another charity scheme. Raising money for the food bank. Putting in ramps for seniors. Convincing the city council to put up “Slow” signs to prevent pedestrian accidents.

  After returning to Cape Craven after college, Brent volunteered at church functions and donated to worthy causes. He’d even been the marshal of the July 4th parade three times. Most folks in Cape Craven think Brent is a decent guy.

  The same couldn’t exactly be said for his older brother. The town was awash in gossip after his arrest, most seeing it not only as a betrayal of his family but a betrayal of the town as well. Ax was persona non grata for most of the people of Cape Craven, but not all of them.
Some wondered how a war hero would do such things. Some, like me, harbored certain doubts about the way things had gone down five years ago.

  Still, a half-decade behind bars hasn’t disagreed with Ax too much. He’s still as sexy as ever. Tall, muscular, with dark hair that’s long enough to be a little unruly and eyes that turn golden in the right light.

  All through junior high, I was head over heels in love with Alexander Craven. It wasn’t until high school that he started to return my feelings, but things weren’t always the fairytale love match I’d fantasized about for ages.

  Take the whole thing with Andrea Mitchell, for example. He finally convinced me that the kiss wasn’t real, that it was rumors spread by jealous classmates. But Andrea wasn’t the first one to try and sink her claws into my man.

  Ax was the hottest thing to hit Cape Craven High since they ditched the uniforms in the seventies and let kids wear t-shirts and jean shorts to school. Girls wanted him, and boys wanted to be him.

  And for a few fleeting moments, he’d been mine.

  I remember the day the marching band murdered the Rihanna hit. I’d been walking home from school, past Farmer Freidmont’s usually empty field, when I heard a racket start up. The band marched onto the field in their street clothes, only the loosest formation being followed, and started massacring the hit that had been my jam for the year.

  From behind the tuba, out popped Ax clutching a bouquet of daisies. We’d been fighting for most of the week, even after I agreed to give him another chance over the Andrea malarkey. Things seemed to be conspiring to keep us apart, even then.

  But I’ll never forget that day, the sun setting off red highlights in his hair, his eyes shining like twin coins, his cocky smile dropkicking its way into my heart.

  “Sabrina Jacobs,” he announced, dropping to one knee in the field. “Will you go to prom with me?”

  Who could turn down a request asked in such an audacious fashion? And prom had been a magical affair, perhaps the most magical night of my young life. Dancing in the arms of the most handsome boy in school, I felt like a princess, bound to end up with her prince.