Billionaire Biker's Secret Baby_A Bad Boy Romantic Suspense

by Weston Parker

  The thing is, my plan is a long shot, and I thought I’d have to do a few not-so-savory things to help tank the share price. I planned to rattle the shareholders’ confidence in my brother further by a few malicious interviews and hints at a hidden past for the golden boy Brent. My hope was that he’d implode enough to make the insider trading appearance plausible.

  Instead, Brent’s imploding all on his own. He couldn’t fuck up worse if he tried. It’s almost like he’s doing it on purpose.

  I smile wryly. Running Craven Industries is the only thing my brother’s ever wanted. He’d pushed me out of the picture to get the top spot, and I never even wanted to work for the damn company. Now that my father’s starting to fade, he finally has his fondest wish. There’s no way he’d willingly destroy his legacy.

  Is there?

  I stand up, pacing in the small confines of the cabin, suddenly missing the suite of rooms I had in my father’s mansion. At least a man had room to move in there. The cabin is beginning to remind me of the cell I’d spent too many hours in. So I open my front door, reminding myself that the forest outside is nothing like Tabor Correctional. The fresh, free air helps me breathe, helps me think.

  I remind myself that I’m close to achieving vengeance, and it’s easier than I ever thought it would be. But my revenge doesn’t taste sweet. It doesn’t taste like anything. It’s just something to do with my time so I don’t have to think about the family I always wanted existing right under my nose, without my knowledge.

  No matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking about Sabrina and our daughter. Last night I’d spent my sleepless hours counting out all the things I’d missed with Alexa. Holding her in my arms as an infant. The smell of fresh baby powder. Late night feedings. Teaching her how to ride a bike. Helping her write her alphabet. Showing her that one plus one is two.

  One plus one is two. If only that were true.

  Not only did I miss doing all those things with my daughter, but I also missed doing them with Sabrina.

  Missed taking turns holding a crying baby. Missed tucking her into bed and telling her I’ll take the midnight feeding shift. Missed her smile when our daughter takes her first steps.

  I missed it all. And I’m still missing it. Right now, Sabrina and Alexa are home, living their lives as a family without me in it. I never had a place in that life, and now I’m afraid I never will.

  God, it makes me feel like shit, and no amount of revenge is going to change that.

  I hear the sound of tires on gravel before I see my brother’s car creeping down the drive. I cross my arms, lamenting the lack of an audience. The more often my brother is seen with me, the stronger my case will become after charges are leveled. Too bad there’s no one to see us out here.

  The car stops and the door opens. Brent climbs out, shutting the car door and straightening his suit jacket before coming toward me. He doesn’t seem happy to see me. The feeling is mutual.

  “Your week is up,” he says without preamble.

  I say nothing, which is what my mother said I should say if I can’t say anything nice.

  Brent crosses his arms, mirroring my position. “What are you doing here, Ax? What are you really doing here?”

  I shrug. “Where else should I be?”

  My brother shakes his head. “Anywhere but here. You were always dense, but even you should be able to understand that there’s nothing left in Cape Craven for you.”

  My mouth tightens into a straight line, and I focus on my breathing, pushing away the flare of temper that makes me want to pound Brent into a pulp. He certainly knows how to throw salt into my too-fresh wound.

  “Look,” he says after another weighted pause, “I get it. You just got out of prison. Where else can you go and get a fair shake? At least in Cape Craven, people know who you are. Anywhere else might not be so kind to a convicted felon.”

  Despite his casual, even friendly tone, his words are calculated to provoke my ire. It takes a lot for me to remain still and silent.

  “Let me help,” he says, taking a step closer. “Ease your passage, so to speak. How does a million sound?”

  I fight not to show a reaction. Brent is trying to pay me to leave town?

  “A million dollars will make things a lot easier out there. People are much more forgiving of a rich man.”

  “I don’t care about money.” He has to know that by now.

  “Everyone cares about money,” he says, a little too fiercely. I watch him blank his face and take another step forward. “Five million. Cash.”

  My eyes widen. Although Brent’s face is calm, I can tell there’s something below the surface. Something that isn’t calm at all.

  I can’t stop myself, my curiosity is too great. So I ask, “Why are you trying to buy me off? Why do you care if I hang around Cape Craven or not?”

  He lets out a huff of breath. “I don’t want you disturbing our father. Nor do I need the public to remember that you’re my brother. It’s challenging enough as it is, without adding my ex-con brother to the mix.”

  “‘Challenging’ doesn’t being to describe it, does it? Share prices haven’t been this low since the Great Depression.”

  His face flushes, and I can see a fire ignite in his eyes. “I see you’ve been doing your homework.”

  “Does Dad know?”

  Brent closes the distance between us and shoves me against the doorframe. “Shut the fuck up.”

  I’m surprised at his reaction. Brent never liked to get his hands dirty before. “Does he know the board is about to remove you and appoint someone else? Someone without the last name of Craven?”

  “He’s sick,” Brent says, his eyes wild.

  I wonder if Dad’s the only one who’s sick. “I thought you’d do a little better, with your big city education and Dad’s power behind you. Instead, you’ve made a litany of textbook mistakes. What’s happening, little brother?”

  His hands are shaking, his lips curling back to expose clenched teeth. “Don’t act like for one second you could do any better. You went from military grunt to cellblock celebrity. You think you can run a multi-billion dollar industry like a prison poker game?”

  “It doesn’t matter if I can do better. They’re not giving the company to me. But they are about to take it away from you.”

  Brent opens his mouth to speak but stops himself. He releases my shirt and smooths down his own jacket. After a beat, he meets my gaze again. “Ten million.”

  “What are you hiding?” I ask, suddenly realizing that something deeper is going on, something that Brent doesn’t want me to stumble on.

  He blinks at me, then turns and walks toward his car. Opening the door, he pauses. “Ten million to go away and never come back. You have until the morning to accept.” He gets in his car and starts it, beginning to reverse down the drive.

  “Or what?” I yell after him.

  There is no response as the car creeps down the gravel and out onto the highway beyond.

  The next morning I’m restless, the cabin walls once again feeling too tight. I start thinking about the estate again and decide on a whim to head back up there. Why not? Brent’s got to be at the office by now, and the shareholders would likely riot if they were to discover he isn’t, so I’m not worried about running into him. Time to see how Dad’s been doing.

  Chuck answers the door and takes me straight to my father’s room. I’m rather surprised since I’ve encountered a gatekeeper the other times I’ve tried to reach him. Apparently, Leigh must be otherwise occupied.

  My father is propped up in a recliner in the sitting room attached to his bedroom. He’s been placed in front of the window, but he’s so still I think he might be asleep until his eyes slide over to me.

  “Hey, Dad,” I say, leaning in. “How you feeling today?”

  He blinks, then his eyes roll back toward the window. I take a seat across from him and watch as he stares off into space.

  “Must be a rough day, huh?” I say, and he does
n’t respond.

  It’s several minutes before his eyes return to me. “Alexander?” he asks weakly.

  “Yeah, Dad, it’s me.”

  “When did you get here?”

  “Just now,” I say, pulling my chair closer. “How you been doing?”

  My father coughs, then stretches slightly in his chair. “I don’t know. Every day runs into the next. They’ve got me here, a prisoner in my own home. How did you deal with it?”

  “Deal with what? Being a prisoner?”

  Dad nods. “Day in and day out, staring outside but trapped inside. Enough to drive a man crazy.”

  “It is,” I say, commiserating. “Want to go outside? Sun’s out.”

  I see a smile grace his lips, and it lifts a little of the darkness I’ve been carrying around. I move over and help him to stand, then look around for his wheelchair. It’s nowhere to be seen.

  “Wait a moment, Dad. I need to find your chair.”

  “Fuck the chair,” he grunts. “Let’s walk. The balcony isn’t far.”

  I loop his arm over my shoulder, and we start to walk. The hallway leads out to the balcony, and it isn’t more than 30 or so steps. By the time we reach the balcony doors, he’s starting to take some of his weight off me.

  The sun is shining brightly as we make our way toward the seating area. When my dad reaches the chair, he pauses, not sitting right away. Instead, he stretches, letting out a good-natured groan.

  “Thanks, son,” he says, his voice slightly ragged. “I’ve been foggy for too long. It feels good to get out of it.”

  I nod, and he sits finally. After a few moments of silence, I turn to him. “Dad, when’s the last time you went to work?”

  Scratching the stubble on his chin, my dad stares off over the acres of rolling grass. “I turned things over to your brother right before the wedding. Leigh insisted on a month-long honeymoon with no work allowed. Then the stroke happened.”

  So he’d been out of commission for close to a year now. I frown. I’ve done some reading on strokes since I heard about my father’s condition, and most people recover in the three or four months. Dad shouldn’t still be so foggy, should he?

  I hear the balcony door open, and Chuck comes out, carrying a glass of water. “Time for your pills, Mr. Craven.”

  I stand, meeting Chuck before he reaches my father. “I’ll give them to him,” I say, taking the glass and holding out my hand.

  Chuck frowns, but he hands over a collection of three different pills. “Make sure he takes them.”

  “Right,” I say, ignoring him. Chuck expects to be ignored. He turns on his heel and leaves. I slide the pills into my pocket.

  “Are you thirsty, Dad?”

  He smiles, taking the water from me. “Thanks, son.”

  I nod and sit back down. “What do you think about Brent’s performance? It’s not easy to fill your shoes.”

  Setting down the water glass, my father nods. “Your brother is doing fine.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “He’d tell me if he wasn’t. Your brother values my advice and always has.” His eyes are playful when he adds, “Unlike some people who shall remain nameless.”

  I debate how far to go. Is it fair to tell my dad what’s happening to his company while my brother remains in charge? Or is he still too impaired?

  Is it fair to let them pull his company away from him because of Brent’s mismanagement? Is he in any condition to do anything about it?

  “Dad, maybe Brent’s not doing as well as you—”

  “Well, what in the heck do we have here?”

  My words are drowned out as Leigh scampers onto the balcony. “You’re outside,” she grumbles. “And without your chair!”

  “I’m fine,” my dad says, then stands up as if to prove himself. “Never better.”

  Leigh graces him with a sweet smile. “Oh honey, you’re always tip top, but remember what the doctors said. You can’t push yourself too hard, or you’ll have another stroke.”

  “How is walking pushing myself? I’ve done it for damn near my whole life.”

  Leigh’s gaze shoots in my direction. “Did you put him up to this?”

  I shake my head. “It’s a nice day, and I helped him out here. Why are you getting your feathers all ruffled here?”

  Leigh’s smile tightens. “Have a seat, Big Daddy,” she coos at my father. “I’ll be back in two shakes.” Then she stalks toward me and grabs my arm, pulling me toward the door.

  “Do you mind?” I say in a voice that is not polite.

  “Yes, I do,” she hisses back. Once we’re through the balcony door, she gives me a little push down the hallway. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing? Next, you’ll be giving him booze and taking him bungee jumping.”

  I shake my head. “What?”

  “Your father is sick! Sicker than he wants to admit! And I don’t appreciate you encouraging his bad behavior.”

  “I think you’re blowing things out of proportion here. We were just sitting and talking. He sounds good. Clear.”

  Leigh’s face starts to crumble, and she covers her eyes. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see him. I was by his side. In the ambulance. In the hospital. I thought he was going to die, and we’d just started our lives together. The doctors say he’s got a one in two chance of having another stroke. A fifty percent chance! He’s got to take it easy, or the next one might kill him.”

  Her hands are shaking, and I feel like an asshole. This little lady was taking care of my dad when I’d been locked up in Tabor, plotting petty revenge on my piece of shit brother.

  “I’m sorry,” I say softly, putting my arm around her. She leans against me and continues to sob for a few moments. Then she turns her face up to mine.

  “You remind me of him. Before the stroke.” Her voice is a little too warm, and it makes me uncomfortable. I duck my head, then remove my arm.

  “I won’t push my father, but I do want to know more about his condition.”

  She nods. “We should have lunch sometime. You can go over his charts.”

  I give her a grin. “Thanks.”

  “Of course. Now go. He’s going to fade soon, and I want to get him to bed before he collapses.”

  I turn and make my way down the hall. Chuck passes me, joining Leigh as she returns to the balcony, so I show myself out.

  26

  Sabrina

  The car starts emitting a grinding noise on my way home from work, and I launch into an in-depth conversation with Jesus, asking him just what he expects from me and ending with a vague promise to be a better everything if he lays off the Job treatment long enough for me to catch my breath.

  Unfortunately, it’s clear I only left a message on Jesus’s voicemail when I walk into the kitchen to find my daughter head-down on the kitchen table, sobbing her eyes out. Mom is standing behind her, rubbing her back, and she pins me with a scorching look as I set down my bag and prepare myself for what’s happened now.

  I don’t quite understand what her look is saying, however. Just that something bad has happened. Obviously.

  “Lex, honey,” I say, pulling out the chair beside her and sitting down at the table. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  She doesn’t answer me, only cries harder. I look to my mother who sighs, then heads to the counter for the cookie jar. She opens the top, takes one out, hands it to me, then brings the jar with her to the table.

  “Lex told the kids at school who her father is today.”

  The bite of cookie turns to ashes in my mouth, and I start to choke. Mom grabs me a glass of water, and I manage to swallow the bite and catch my breath. “Say what now?”

  “I told them,” Lex says, her words coming out muffled against the faded tabletop. “I told them that I’m a Craven.”

  Leaning back, I let my head loll as I stare at the ceiling and wonder when I lost control of my life. Although I know I’m not going to like what I hear, I ask the question anyway. “What
happened?”

  Finally raising her head, Lex pins her gaze on my face and my heart breaks. Her little face is pale, her eyes full of pain. “They called me a liar. Then Billy broke my princess pencil, and when I told Miss Samantha, Billy denied it. He said I was the liar, then told her who my dad was. She got angry, told me I had to stop making up stories, and then made me sit at my desk during recess.”

  Miss fucking Samantha again. My temper flares and I realize that maybe I’ve been too busy to see that I’ve underestimated the struggle my daughter is facing at school. It’s one thing to have issues with other nine-year-olds, but to have an adult grind you down like that is something else entirely. Lex doesn’t deserve it.

  I stand, approaching Lex’s chair and pulling it back. I lean down and drag my daughter into my arms, clutching her tight. “Baby, I am so sorry about what happened to you. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about your father earlier. I’m sorry for every time your classmates have made you feel bad about yourself.”

  I lean her head back and wipe away her tears with my thumbs while I cup her little face. “You don’t deserve this. You’ve done nothing wrong.” My voice cracks but I carry on. “I’ve made some mistakes, but I’ve done the best I could by you, and I know you know I love you.”

  “I know, Mom,” she says, sniffling.

  “Alexander Craven is your father. You’re not a liar. And it’s time Miss Samantha realizes that fact.”

  “What are you going to do?” My mother’s voice is hoarse.

  I press Lex’s head to my chest and fix my mother with a heavy stare. “I’m going to hunt down Miss Samantha and have a calm and rational conversation with her. And together, we’ll come up with a plan of how to address the bullying Lex has been facing.”

  Mom purses her lips, and I know what she wants to say. Lex is no angel, hence my mom’s nickname for her. But Lil Devil isn’t in the wrong here. And Miss Samantha needs to realize that calling my baby a liar in front of the class isn’t acceptable anymore. Not when she’s telling the truth.