Knocked Up by the Bad Boy

by Waltz, Vanessa

  François lays on the horn and the metal gate screams as it swings aside.

  “Putain de merde.”

  Carlos waits just inside the community, wearing his filthy leather jacket. We roll the car into a dirt parking lot and I open my door, fixing a smile on my face.

  “Carlos, good to see you.”

  “John.”

  He nods at me, and then we walk toward that shack he calls a clubhouse. I’ll have to wipe the dust from my shoes when I get out of here. I walk past a lot of sullen, drawn faces. Like dogs at the pound. What a depressing place to live in.

  The clubhouse has a bit of charm. Inside, there are strippers wearing pasties, gyrating on poles as those bearded fucks ogle them. Loud rock music grates against my ears. A biker grabs a passing stripper and pulls her onto his lap, groping her tits for everyone to see. I sneer at them as I walk by. These people have no fucking class. I don’t want to touch any surface, because I have a suspicion that the entire place is covered with a film of cum and pussy juice.

  Thankfully we enter Carlos’s office, and my bodyguards wait outside. He walks behind his desk and my eyes wander over the dusty room, passing over a couple of golden frames. A figure catches my eye.

  My heart jumps in my chest and I lean in, studying the picture frame. It’s a photo of Carlos, and his wife and daughter.

  So? What’s got me so excited?

  The daughter. The picture is a few years old, but there’s no mistaking those pouty lips and haughty eyes. Maya. The girl I’ve been fantasizing about is also the daughter of the president of Les Diables MC.

  Oh fuck.

  My heart races and I swallow the urge to curse out loud. Everything makes sense now. Her hesitation to fuck me. No wonder.

  And she had no idea who I was the whole time. She said her dad would be pissed. No fucking kidding. This could start a war.

  Fuck me.

  I lean back into my chair as Carlos gives me a sharp glance. “What’s funny?”

  I look into his suspicious eyes, wishing I could tell him:

  I fucked your daughter.

  MAYA

  “Pick up every last piece, you little bitch.”

  On my hands and knees, I look up at the man who stirs a flash of rage in my chest.

  You fucking pick it up.

  I don’t dare say it out loud, not when his men surround him and he looks as though he might knock out my teeth if I say something wrong.

  But I want to take the pile of broken mirror shards in my hand and fling it into his face.

  “I don’t know what the fuck is your problem. I try to support your hobbies, and you pay me back by trashing your salon?”

  The edges of the mirror shards cut into my palm as he kicks aside one of the broken pieces.

  “It’s not a fucking hobby. It’s going to be my career.”

  Deep laughter cuts into me, his bright eyes lit with malevolence. “A career? You want to make a living out of cutting people’s hair?”

  “I should sell dope to kids instead?”

  Screw him, acting as though he’s fucking better than me when everyone knows about the drugs in schools.

  I stand up and toss the shards in the garbage bin, turning my back on Dad. He grips my shoulder and the air squeezes from my chest when he shoves me against the wall.

  “Who the fuck makes sure you have clothes on your back? Food in your stomach? Me. I don’t want to hear you bitching about how I make a living.”

  His arm crushes my throat and I dig my nails into his arm. He’s not going to kill me. I know that. He just wants to scare me.

  You don’t scare me, Dad.

  “Carlos, enough.”

  Mom’s voice cracks across the converted garage and I hear the sound of her boots snapping the broken fragments.

  He releases me, and I breathe hard through my nose, never looking away from him. “You’re done at that coffee place,” he seethes.

  The bottom drops out of my stomach.

  It’s my one refuge. The one place I feel normal. It’s much more than just a job. It’s a ticket to my freedom. I can’t just give it up.

  “I’m not quitting.”

  “Then I’ll go down there and I’ll quit for you, and my way won’t be nearly as nice as yours.”

  A boiling pressure builds up behind my eyes. “You can’t keep me locked up like some slave!”

  “Carlos, maybe she could work there once a week.”

  Once a week? That’s not nearly enough hours to get out of this fucking place.

  “Fuck that!”

  His face whitens with rage. “One more word out of your fucking mouth and I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”

  But I already wish that.

  “You’re quitting the job. Today.”

  He took away my freedom to date men, and now he’s taking away my right to earn a living. It’s too much. Tears sting my eyes, and I look away from him. Don’t fucking cry. Smash his face in, instead. God, I really want to. He walks out of the garage, turning his head around to give me a final smirk.

  And that sets me off.

  With my mother watching, I take the garbage can in both hands and scream, hurling the can across the garage as all the mess slides over the room. Then I pick it back up and bash the metal against the heavy sinks. It’s like a loud gong, crashing against my ears. BANG. BANG. BANG. I trash it until there are heavy dents in the cheap metal, and then I hurl it to the floor.

  “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”

  Mom screams at me, her hands wrapping around my arms. I whirl around and yell at her furious face.

  “I don’t care! He’s taken everything away from me!”

  “Clean this shit up!”

  “Fuck that.”

  I walk quickly out of the garage, my face burning as my eyes immediately seek out the gate. The tall bars seem to touch the sky from where I stand, and then I realize that in all probability, I’ll never, ever leave this place.

  “Hey, Maya. What’s wrong?”

  A timid female voice snaps me out of my trance and I quickly wipe my face when Beatrice steps in front of me, her eyebrows knitting together.

  “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  It wouldn’t do to spill my guts to my cousin. If Dad leaned on her just a little, she would blab about everything that happened in the bar.

  She opens her mouth, but I quickly silence her. “I don’t want to talk about it, Bea.”

  “I was just wondering if I could have my lights done.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  What the fuck else is there to do?

  She follows me back into the garage, where my mom is sweeping up the bits of broken glass. A stab of guilt hits my chest as I watch her, and Beatrice lets out an audible gasp.

  “What the fuck happened?”

  Mom glares at me as I lead her into the garage and use a rag to wipe the salon chair free of glass.

  “Mom, I’ll clean it up.”

  Dark eyes glittering, she sets aside the broom and gives me a tired sigh. “Come here, sweetheart.”

  My insides clench painfully as I leave Beatrice’s side and join my mother’s, whose arms are so firmly crossed that I think it would take a crowbar to uncross them.

  “Mom—”

  “You have to stop talking to him like that. You’re never going to get what you want by fighting with him.”

  I gape at her. “He doesn’t want me to do anything. Just sit here and watch after the kids and waste my life—”

  Her eyes flare. “Like me?”

  That’s not fair. “You wanted this. I don’t.”

  She tosses her dark hair and closes her eyes as if in pain. “Do what he says. He’d ease up if you actually listened to him.”

  But I don’t want to listen to him. I’m twenty-two, a grown woman, for God’s sake, and I have my own dreams. My own desires. And he’s determined to block me from all of them.

  “You have no choice. Look at who your father is.”

 
Must I always live under his fucking shadow?

  “I don’t give a shit.”

  She lets out another sigh, brushing past me as she raises her manicured hands to her temple.

  I turn back toward Beatrice, who smiles at me expectantly, and I force my muscles to return the smile.

  More than anything, I want to be alone to think about him. A smile hitches on my face as I comb through Beatrice’s hair. He was way too damn handsome and incredible in the sack. More surprising was my willingness to follow his orders like a goddamn slave. Do this. Do that. It made my blood boil, but there was something irresistible about the authority in his voice. I couldn’t help but listen to him. I mean, Jesus, he put his mouth on my pussy and sucked me. Fuck, I can still feel his tongue lapping at my clit, his breath like steam on my pussy. I let him come inside me.

  A small twist of fear drains the blood from my face. It was stupid of me. I wasn’t thinking. But I can’t deny how fucking amazing it felt to have him fill me up with his seed, his hands owning me, running over my body’s curves and squeezing as if I was irresistible. He called me things that made me soar. Gorgeous. Beautiful. The fucking nasty shit he said—I loved that, too.

  I folded the card he gave me into fours, but never looked at it. I just stuck it in my jeans pocket, and I run my fingers over the coarse edges whenever I feel like calling him.

  There’s no future with that guy.

  A heavy wave hits me. My hands tremble and I’m suddenly glad there’s no mirror, so that Beatrice can’t see my eyes burning with unshed tears.

  “I’m going out with him. Paul.”

  I can tell that she’s been dying to tell me since the moment she saw me. “Oh, cool. When?”

  “Geez, don’t sound so excited.”

  “Sorry, I’m just in a bad mood right now.”

  “We’re going out to the city tonight. That’s why I wanted to do my lights.”

  Jealousy burns inside me like the glowing embers of a still-hot fire. “That’s great.”

  Beatrice gives me another weird look, but I’m in no mood to act cheerful for anyone.

  * * *

  The smell of coffee beans saturates the air, burning my nose. I wipe down tables with my wet rag, content to just ignore the customers and fill the little sugar things while my mind lingers over Johnny’s lips. Johnny’s tattooed, lean body warm against mine. Johnny’s dick.

  A man looks up at me from the book he’s reading, and I blush hard as if he’s caught me thinking nasty things.

  “Maya, I heard it’s your last day!”

  One of my coworkers, a sweet younger girl, bounces up to me.

  “Yeah.”

  “You have to come out with us for a drink or something. I can’t believe you’re leaving.”

  I ball the wet rag in my fist as a sudden pain hits me. Oh God, I’m about to cry.

  “I—I can’t. I have to go back home.”

  Her face falls comically. “You can’t have one drink?”

  I bite my lip suddenly as I consider walking past that bar. His bar. No, I can’t. We messed around once, and that’s that.

  “Sorry.”

  I turn my back on her, unable to stomach the look of disappointment and my own sinking feelings. It galls me that that fucker has so much say in my life, the man I’m supposed to call Daddy.

  The door opens, swinging wide as a man in slacks steps inside, his leather shoes gleaming against the floor. I’m still bent over the table, so I don’t see his face. I’m working as slowly as I can. Fucking savoring the last drop of freedom.

  “Jesus, look at that guy.”

  I raise my head at the sound of her awed voice and my heart stalls in my chest because only one guy I know of looks that good in a suit.

  Johnny.

  “Oh my God, he’s looking at you.”

  A slow grin staggers across his devilishly handsome face. He wears a blue pinstripe suit, looking as immaculate as he did in the bar. He slips his phone in his jacket pocket, looking unsurprised to see me here.

  What the fuck?

  Amy gives me a very curious look. “Why’s he gawking at you like that?”

  “Like what?” I can barely hear what she’s saying. He’s a dream. This can’t be real.

  “Like he’s seen you naked.” An excited gasp leaves her throat. “Do you know him?”

  Before I can utter a word to make her shut up, Johnny takes a couple strides and joins my side. He’s close enough to breathe in, and I smell freshly laundered clothes and the shampoo on his hair. He’s way too clean, and I probably smell like coffee grounds. It’s embarrassing, him seeing me here like this.

  Amy slinks away to gawk at us behind the counter, flashing me a grin when I catch her gaze.

  “How the fuck did you find me?” I mutter.

  “Maybe when you left my apartment, I made sure we’d bump into each other.”

  My skin burns when he grabs my waist, and I’m pretty sure I’ve lost the ability to breathe, because my chest is paralyzed. I summon every ounce of indignation I have, but he’s holding my waist. I feel the warmth of his hands through my t-shirt, and then he squeezes. God, I remember him doing that when we were naked.

  Holy fuck, don’t think of that now.

  “You had me followed?”

  “You didn’t give me a choice, sweetheart. You never called.”

  “And now what?”

  His voice deepens. “I want you to come home with me.”

  Another hard thump of my heart against my ribs makes me dizzy.

  “You want me again?”

  A little laugh shakes from his chest, and then he swallows it to give me a look that makes me hot all over. “Of course I want you again. That’s why I gave you my card.”

  I’m surprised and flattered that he actually tracked me down. He took the time to find out where I worked, when he could have easily found someone else.

  I take his hands from my waist to push him away from me, but he twists his grip so that he’s holding my hand in his. Then he raises it to his lips and kisses my skin.

  Intense heat rushes exactly where he kisses me, until I think that my face must be on fire. With a dark look thrown my way, he takes my elbows and yanks me into his chest.

  “You have some balls. You know who my father is?”

  Amusement twinkles in his eyes. “Yeah. And maybe I don’t give a fuck.”

  What?

  The confidence in his voice stuns me. It’s like a club to my head. Logic tells me that he must be brazen or stupid, but I don’t know. He’s so fucking sure of himself.

  Either way, it makes my panties soak in an instant.

  “You’re in the Mafia,” I hiss back.

  “I thought I was just a bar owner,” he says, smirking.

  He looks even hotter with that shit-eating grin.

  Then, as if he expects it, as if he knows I’m just inwardly begging for him to do it, he lowers his head and catches my mouth in his. My heart rams against my chest as his lips touch mine, the kiss deepening as he clenches the back of my neck. He’s softer than I’ve ever felt him, but then I feel his tongue, and then I remember that we’re right in the middle of a fucking café.

  Good thing I’m quitting.

  Johnny pulls back with a primal growl in the back of his throat, looking as though he’d quite like to strip me down right in the café.

  “How about it? Do you want another night—”

  “—Shh—”

  “—Where you scream my name as you come on my cock?” He just laughs at me when I pound his chest. “Come on. I’ll take you out.”

  God, I can’t fucking stand it even though I know it’s wrong. He’s wrong. I want him. Every cell in my body screams for him.

  “We’re a disaster waiting to happen. If my father finds out—”

  “I’m not afraid of your father.”

  Sold.

  I don’t know what kind of drugs he’s on, but if he doesn’t give a shit about the risk he’s taking, wh
y should I?

  I leave the rag on the table as I take his hand, my spirits so high that I could probably fly if I jumped in the air. There’s a car waiting out front, and he opens the passenger door for me, my skin heating when he slides in next to me. I don’t know why, but I feel fucking nervous locked in the car with him.

  “I can’t believe you’re not pissed off about my dad.”

  Johnny shrugs as he slides his arm around my shoulders and draws me closer. I feel his breath on my face and I know that if I turn my head, he’ll kiss me.

  “I was pissed before, but now I understand.”

  Fucking slick bastard will say anything to get into my pants.

  He hooks his hand around my thigh and an electrical shock runs straight to my pussy as he tilts my face toward his with just a finger under my jaw.

  It was inevitable once I felt his hands on me. The spark between us is undeniable. Like flesh on flame, like tongue on steel. His lips crush mine as the stubble on his cheek scratches my skin. My heart pounds when he pulls back slightly to look at me with unbridled lust. I’ve never been with a man like this. He swallows my gasps as he kisses me again, grabbing my tits through my shirt. His thumb moves roughly over my peaked nipple as a wave of heat rolls over my chest.

  I yank his lapels and feel the heat emanating from his skin. I palm his chest, sliding down his tie as his tongue dazzles my mouth. His tongue slipped inside my pussy that night. That’s all I can think of as he kisses me. My hand settles in his lap, the burning heat now a raging forest fire. I grab his cock, which stiffens in my grip. Johnny digs his fingers in my hair as he rests his forehead against mine, a low growl rumbling from his chest.

  I love that.

  The car stops and Johnny pulls away from me, adjusting his cock so that his raging hard-on is not so obvious. My mouth waters as I look at it. He gives me a wink as the driver opens the door, and then I realize how fucked up my hair must be.

  Oh shit.

  He stopped us in front of small café: Momesso. Italian sausage sandwiches.

  I press my lips into a firm line as laughter builds up inside my chest. This must be his idea of a joke.

  “What, we’re going to eat here?”