FILLED BY THE BAD BOY: Tidal Knights MC

by Paula Cox

  “No, thank you.”

  “I wasn’t asking.” He licks his lips. “I was telling.”

  “I do not want a drink,” I say firmly.

  I push the glass across the table. I’m nervous and I push with too much force. Even so, Scud could catch it if he wanted. But he doesn’t. All he wants is to make me uncomfortable. He watches as the glass slides over the edge of the table. But it doesn’t smash like he wants. It lands on a chair, on the cushion, and is about to roll to the floor when I reach under the table and grab it.

  He sneers at me. “You won’t even have one drink. What’s the matter with you?”

  “I just don’t want a drink. I don’t understand why that’s such a big deal.”

  “Watch your tone,” he warns.

  I want to laugh in his face when he says that. Who is he to tell me what to do? What does he think will happen to him if Kade finds out how he’s behaving? And yet Kade is not here. This exchange is closed off from the rest of the town, the rest of the world. For however long it takes for more Tidal Knights to join us, Scud is free to do as he pleases. I swallow, nervous, scared, wishing I’d just gone into my room and locked the door behind me.

  “I said, watch your tone.” He squints at me.

  “Fine,” I murmur.

  “Good girl.”

  The invisible worms multiply. I fight the urge to shiver. Shame, shame. But I am afraid that if he sees me shiver, he’ll take it as a sign that he’s winning.

  “So, why won’t you take a drink? Drank too much of Kade’s come, eh?” He winks at me, trying to make it into a joke, but there’s a malicious tone in there somewhere.

  “I would thank you not to talk to me like that—”

  “Fuckin’ la-dee-dah over here.” Scud rolls his eyes—marbles in skeletal pitted sockets. “You’re a biker’s whore, Lana. Here to please us. I can talk to you however I damn well please. And I won’t warn you again; watch your tone.”

  “I am not a whore.” I’m scared, but this is too much. I can’t stand for this. What sort of woman would I be?

  Scud leans across the table and breathes in my face, reeking of whisky and cigarettes. All at once, what sort of woman I am doesn’t seem very important. “You are a biker’s whore. I’ve heard you, moaning, choking on his prick. We’ve all heard you.” He smiles as he talks, as though trying to get me in on the joke. “I know what you’ve been doing. You’re a naughty devil, Lana. You’ve been moaning knowing that I’ve been listening. You’ve been moaning for me, haven’t you? That’s why you let me sit in with you in the day when Kade’s out. That’s why you’re here now. I always knew you wanted me, ever since I saw you in that fuckin’ bikini.”

  “Wait—what?”

  To say that I am stunned would be like saying this man is creepy: too-simple too-small words for a situation complex and sickening and confusing and terrifying.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t remember,” Scud says, leaning back, giggling. “I came through that bikini café every day for three months when I had business on that side of the water. I always made sure to get your shift. Those tits . . . goddamn, Lana. Those tits are some fuckin’ nice tits. I remember the way you used to push them together for me. How you used to make sure my coffee was just the right temperature. How you used to make sure I had extra sugars just in case and a plastic stirrer. Always giving me special treats.”

  They were not special treats. That was me doing my job.

  I think back, trying to remember him. Maybe. It’s not impossible. But if he ever came by, I forgot him just as I forgot most of the customers. Too many faces to remember each one, unless they gave you a reason to remember. But then I think deeper, and yes—he did come by. On his bike. A pitted-faced man with leering eyes always too shy to say anything. How he has jumped to the conclusion that we have any sort of connection from the few words we exchanged, I have no clue.

  “I’ve noticed, by the way, that those perfect pert tits have gotten bigger. Did Kade pay for them or what?”

  “Stop talking about me like that,” I say. “You have no right to talk about me like that.”

  “They’ve definitely gotten bigger.” He squints at them. “Yeah, they have. I can tell. They’ve gone up a cup size. A cup size at least! Maybe I should have a feel, you know, see if they’ve really gotten bigger? Eh?” He has the same smile on his face, as though he cannot see I am not in on the fun. He says it like we’re flirting, like I have let him touch me intimately before. He’s drunk and deluded and has no self-awareness, a dangerous mix.

  I make to stand. He moves quick, darting around the table and grabbing my wrist.

  “Woah! Where are you going?”

  “You’re hurting me,” I say, trying to pull my arm away.

  “Where are you going, though?”

  “I’m tired. I want to go back to my room.”

  “We’re not done talking.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “And we’re not done talking!” He sits on the chair closest to me, loosening his grip but not letting me go. “Why are you being a tease now, when we’re alone, when we can finally do what we want to do?”

  “I don’t want to do anything with you,” I say. “Please let go of my arm.”

  He stares at my chest, not at my face, at the way my breasts are overflowing my bra and my summer dress.

  “They’re bigger.” He smiles, glances up at me, inviting me to join in.

  “Scud, let go of me!”

  “They are bigger, for sure.” He licks his lips, raises his eyebrows. “You don’t mind if I have a quick feel, do you, baby?”

  “I do mind.” I try and pull my arm away. He’s too strong. He’s skinny and weak-looking, but he’s too strong for me. It makes me sick. I feel bile rise in my throat. I want to be sick, I realize. I want to be sick right in his face because at least then he’ll stop seeing me as some warped prize, stop seeing this as a flirty exchange. But my body is not on my side; the bile returns to my belly. “I very much mind. I want to go now.”

  “Nobody’s here.” He waves his free hand at the bar. “It’s just me and you.”

  “That’s not the point!” I snap.

  “Keep your voice down.” He growls the command, shifting from playful to threatening as though he can flip a switch inside his head.

  “I have no interest in you, Scud,” I say, staring into his face. He has hold of me now; I can’t placate him with nice words. I can’t baby-step around him. Fine. Fear and shame be damned. Fine. “I don’t think you’re funny or interesting or handsome. I don’t like you. I am not attracted to you. I barely remember you from the Twin Peaks. I have spoken to you these past weeks to be polite. Whatever romance you think has developed between us exists entirely in your head. I do not want you.”

  For a moment, I think this has gotten through to him. He pauses, staring at me, seeming to understand. And then that flirty smile returns to his lips and he nods at the bar in general. “We’re alone,” he says. “There’s no need for that. Could you moan for me when I touch you, Lana? I love the way you moan. I know it upsets you that you have to moan for Kade just so I can hear. I know that hurts you. But it’s just me and you now.”

  He reaches across for my chest. Without thinking, I tear my nails down the back of the hand which grasps my wrist.

  “Ow,” Scud murmurs, more surprised than anything. He withdraws his hand.

  I jump to my feet, adrenaline coursing through me. “Who do you think you are!” I scream.

  “Keep your voice down!” Scud jumps to his feet.

  I walk around the table, making sure to keep it between us. Blood drips from his hand onto the floor.

  “I won’t!” I cry. “I won’t! How dare you try and touch me like that! How fucking dare you!”

  “Be quiet!”

  He jumps around the table; I jump to the other side.

  “You’re a disgusting, small, pathetic man and I would never let you touch me like that!”

  “Look at
you, you fat whore!” Scud sneers at me, folding his arms. “You think Kade is going to stick by you for much longer, you fat cunt? You’re getting fat and sooner or later Kade is going to get tired of you. You should be happy a man like me is showing an interest.”

  It always comes to this, I reflect. It always comes down to men like Scud thinking we owe them something. Men like Scud using us and insulting us and then telling us we should be grateful for the attention. Sick rises again in my throat. This time, I force it back down. I won’t give him the satisfaction. But my hands shake with rage, my legs feel like they might simply drop away beneath me.

  “Look how fat you’re getting.” He sneers, and there’s mocking laughter in his voice. “How long do you think Kade is going to keep you around, you fat slut?” He giggles to himself, shaking his head as though he can’t believe I would be so stupid. “You’re a cunt,” he goes on in a matter-of-fact tone. “That’s all. Just a cunt. And the fact that you would think yourself too good for me is downright ridiculous. A cunt like you should be—”

  “Stop saying I should be grateful!” I snap.

  “You fat whore!”

  “I’m not fat, you moron! I’m pregnant! I’m goddamn pregnant!”

  As we talk, we move around the table, him trying to get at me and me making sure he can’t. By the time I shout at him that I’m pregnant, my back is to the door and he’s looking at me—and at the bar behind me. When I shout that I’m pregnant, Scud’s eyes go wide, fearful, and he immediately takes a step back and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He looks like a cowed kid trying to act casual in front of an angry parent.

  I turn, and see why.

  Kade stands in the bar, arms at his sides, temples pulsing, staring straight at my pregnant belly.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lana

  We ride to the coffee shop in silence, battered by rain, Kade either unwilling or unable to say anything. His reaction confuses me. Of course, it’s a shock, but he’s chilly toward me, as though I have done something to hurt him. I don’t understand; I didn’t create this child alone. But Kade flinches when I put my arms around him from my place on the back of bike, grunts when I ask him for the helmet and then gestures for me to get it myself, and then when he parks outside the coffee shop, taps his foot impatiently. I half expect him to punch the wall, the way he’s acting.

  We walk through hammering summer rain toward the door. The rain came suddenly and without warning; people in the park rush to nearby buildings, cramming into bakeries and coffee shops and restaurants. A few people crowd under the eaves of the town hall.

  We sit in the café, order a coffee each, and I find myself thinking about the staff-members’ uniforms before I realize I am just trying to distract myself from the baby situation.

  “Look, Kade—”

  I’m about to tell him that the reason I kept it a secret was because I was scared of how he was going to react, that the reason I kept it a secret was that I didn’t think he’d understand. I’ll tell him that we conceived the child that first passionate night together and ever since then I’ve been desperate for the truth to come out. I’m just upset it came out in this way. As soon as Kade came in, Scud swaggered off, hands in his pockets, and Kade must not have been watching for very long because he let the freak go.

  “Is it Scud’s?” Kade asks quietly.

  Oh.

  I lean back and look at him, anger of my own rising now. So that’s where this chilliness is coming from. He thinks I’ve been fucking Scud behind his back. He thinks my would-be assaulter and I have been having secret meetings, that I’ve been screwing Scud in the day and then waiting for Kade at night. I grip my coffee mug so hard it burns into my palm. I don’t care. Kade doesn’t know what just happened, but that doesn’t touch my anger. The man just tried to assault me. He insulted me. He belittled me. And now Kade sits there asking if I’m fucking the man, if the child is his, if . . .

  “How dare you,” I mutter.

  My dark tone takes him by surprise—heightened by the crack of thunder which accompanies my words. He tilts his head at me. “That ain’t an answer.”

  “How dare you,” I repeat. “How dare you accuse me of that.”

  “How dare I . . .” He seems to be about to shout at me, rising out of his seat, face red. Then he swallows the anger and drops back into it. He takes a deep breath and goes on in a restrained tone, but it’s clear he would like to shout at me. Shout at me . . . as if I have done anything even close to what he is suggesting. It’s not enough to have his VP try and assault me; now he himself is going to treat me like crap. “How dare I? How dare I, Lana? You told me you were going for coffee with your friend. And I come back in the middle of the day to see you and Scud in some kind of argument. Some kind of passionate fuckin’ argument. What do you and Scud have between you that you’d ever have an argument like that? I didn’t even know you’d said two words to each other. And then I come back and . . . and what the fuck, Lana. What the hell could you be arguing about?”

  “So you think that Scud and I have been having an affair, and that I am carrying Scud’s child, and that that is what we were arguing about.”

  He leans forward slightly, looking closely at me. The blue of his eyes is normally alluring. Now it is like two glinting sword-points are directed at me. “Well, were you?”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “You don’t seem to want to answer.”

  “I don’t want to answer because it infuriates me that you’d even ask!”

  “That sounds like something a liar would say.”

  “Take that back, Kade. Don’t you dare call me a liar.”

  “Tell the fuckin’ truth then!” he explodes.

  Several people in the café turn to look at the table, but as soon as they see the president of the Tidal Knights, they turn away.

  “Stop speaking to me in that tone,” I say.

  What I want, I know, is unreasonable in the current situation: I want him to apologize for ever doubting me and ask me to explain in a patient tone. But there’s too much emotion in the air, too much tension. Still, sitting here and being shouted at by Kade is not how I envisioned this moment.

  “You think I would fuck Scud? Scud? Really? I hardly know the man.”

  “You hardly knew me,” he mutters.

  I push my chair back at that, the force of the words hitting me in the chest. My heart hammers and for a second I think it’s going to hammer right out and across the room, slapping into Kade’s face. That would be good. Use my heart to show how much he’s wounded my heart. I’m going a little mad; anger can do that to a person. He’s throwing the best night of my life in my face. He’s using it against me.

  “Lana, I didn’t mean that . . .”

  He keeps talking. On and on, telling me how he is sorry for that, he would never mean that, he spoke in anger.

  “You said it,” I interrupt him. “You threw it in my face. So I guess we know now what sort of man you really are.”

  “I didn’t fuckin’ mean it.”

  He growls.

  “Don’t growl at me,” I say. “I am disgusted with you. I am truly disgusted. I thought you respected me more than this.”

  “You’ll have to leave the club,” he says. “If you’ve done what it looks like you’ve done, you’ll have to leave the club. I haven’t so much as looked at another woman the whole time I’ve been with you, and you won’t even answer a simple goddamn question.”

  “The question doesn’t deserve an answer.”

  I release my coffee mug. My palm is scalded red. I open and close my hand and the raw skin aches and sends pain shooting up my arm.

  “You see—saying stuff like that doesn’t make me hopeful.”

  I am so tired today of men looking as me as though it’s my job to make them feel some particular emotion. Scud with his expectant make-me-happy stare and now Kade with his expectant answer-my-question stare. And I should answer his question. It’s simple enough, despit
e what I say. But it’s the asking of it that annoys me. I trusted this man, perhaps I still do on some level, and here he is asking me if I betrayed him, willing to believe that I did. Not giving me the benefit of the doubt for a second.

  I sip my coffee, lukewarm now, and watch Kade over the top of the mug. He works the knuckles of one hand with the fingers of another, clicks his neck from side to side, and all the while stares at me with those penetrating eyes. I keep telling myself: He is willing to believe I have been fucking Scud behind his back. Each time I think it, anger surges up in my belly like razor-winged butterflies, cutting through me, making it so all I want to do is lie down, hunched up, wait for the tension to pass. A cocktail of hormones and genuine outrage deep in my belly.