Brute: The Valves MC

by Faye, Carmen

  “I’m trying to make bunnies, but I can’t for the…” He stopped abruptly, and I guessed he saw my face.

  I tried to hide the tears, but he pulled me to my feet and embraced me tightly. I didn’t protest. I felt like a villain, and I needed all the comfort he could spare to convince me otherwise. I was taking his child away, and I was the one needing comfort. That was just wrong.

  “Don’t cry, Mari. I told you, this is the right thing to do. I promise. Calm down. It’s not the end of the world.”

  I tried to ease his mind a bit, my voice recovering hoarsely. “No, I haven’t called them.”

  He didn’t let me say more. He pulled back and sat me down, holding my hands over the table. “Don’t call them, baby. Don’t.” My eyes snapped to his, and he said, “I promise, I’ll end everything with the Valves. I want to go to the police.”

  I stood, pushing the chair back in my haste. “That’s dangerous!” I hissed in terror. I couldn’t imagine what they would do if they found out he ratted.

  “I know. That’s why I’m glad you’re taking Ginger. I know she’ll be safe with you and that you’ll care for her like the perfect mother you are.” His words sparked something inside, and the nausea rose again in strong waves. I clenched my teeth to ward it off as I sat down. “I’ll make a deal and tell the police everything I know. It’ll get me a couple of years, but that’s fine, and after that, everything will go back to normal.”

  “Years? As in prison?” I realized that was to be expected, but I couldn’t wrap my mind around the notion that Dawson would be locked up. For years.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll manage. And by the time I get inside, there won’t be any Valves left to bother you or Ginger. I can promise you that. That’s why I said you were right and that I’m glad you’re taking her. Until I come out, I know you’ll take the best care of her. I thank you for being there. I can’t thank you enough, Mari.”

  Silence loomed between us. I didn’t know what to say, and he had spilled every one of his dark secrets. I looked up and watched his expression. It looked like he already tasted the liberation, excitement dancing in his eyes. It made me smile in spite of myself. He had figured it all out and would make it better. I trusted him.

  We gazed into each other’s eyes for long minutes before he blinked, the joy fleeing his expression. Looking away timidly, he asked, “What about us, then?”

  I didn’t know if it was the sudden wave of emotions his words stirred or the general uneasiness of the circumstances, but I needed to get up and rush to the bathroom. I barely made it, bending over the toilet bowl and letting the sickness take over. But nothing happened. I chalked it up to a false alarm and started to open the door when it hit again. This time, my stomach heaved.

  Weakened and shaken, I leaned against the sink. The taste of bile and gastric acid nearly gagged me, and I shivered, rinsing with water as I reached for the mouthwash. It took several rounds to douse the disgusting taste.

  After splashing cold water on my face and taking an aspirin, I stepped out of the bathroom and nearly ran into Dawson. Ginger was just coming out of her room, bag overstuffed with toys and clothes.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, stopping to look at me.

  I cringed.

  “Are you sure you’re all right? A mild concussion wouldn’t last this long. Maybe I should take you to a hospital.” He took my wrists, concern darkening his features.

  “Hospital? What’s wrong, Mari? Do you have the flu, too?” Ginger came close and tried to hug me.

  I shrugged it off, saying something about lack of sleep and no breakfast. I didn’t want to add to their worries by making a scene.

  “Are you sure?” he asked again, more sternly. I nodded. “Then it’s all set. You stay for breakfast. I made these delicious pancakes for both of you, and after you eat, you’ll be fine. Right, Ginger?”

  “You made pancakes?” she exclaimed as she rushed to the kitchen.

  He picked up her bag and stood there, close to me as I sought his eyes. As if he wanted to repeat his earlier question but couldn’t bear to utter the words, he bent his head toward me and brushed his lips over mine. He waited for my answer, and when I tried to pull away, he wrapped me in his arms, gracefully accepting my refusal with a chaste kiss atop my head. I felt like crying again, reminded that I was the bad guy.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Even Ginger knew I was in no shape to be up and out of bed, much less getting her ready for school. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this sick, and the slightest motion set off a new wave of nausea. But I had a job to do, and I was determined to do it to the best of my ability, despite my own illness.

  “Mommy, you should be resting,” she said as I stood in the kitchen packing her lunch and had to close my eyes as the smell of peanut butter hit me like rancid, fresh sewage. “I can call Daddy and have him take me to school.”

  “No,” I snapped, and I instantly regretted it. Ginger’s face registered how hurt she was that I would yell at her. I had never really raised my voice to her, no matter what, mostly because she was so well behaved. She was precocious, but Dawson had been raising her right, teaching her how to act.

  Ironic, considering the life he led.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” I told her, reaching out to her and pulling her against my leg so I could hug her. I was afraid to bend over with the way my stomach churned. “I just don’t feel good and I will rest, after I get you to school, okay? I’m going to have a sick day and stay home, like some of your friends do when they have colds.”

  “I think that’s a good idea. Daddy’s home, though. I saw him through the window outside when I got dressed. He was on the phone. He can take me so you can go to bed now.”

  I didn’t know what to do. I really didn’t feel like it would be safe for me to get behind the wheel of a car in my condition, and the bed was calling my name. But Dawson was going to disappear, very soon, and I didn’t want Ginger to get used to being able to call on her father whenever she wanted. He wouldn’t be available when he was behind bars, and I still didn’t know when that was going to happen.

  It hadn’t been that long since we’d all talked, but the whole weekend had been difficult. The discussion as Ginger packed her bags for an ‘exciting visit’ with me had ended in agony for both Dawson and myself, and I’d been sick the whole time. I’d brought the child home with me – a mere few feet away from the home she shared with the man she knew as her father – and struggled through Saturday and Sunday without giving in.

  Since Dawson hadn’t appeared to be home most of the time, it was a little easier. Now, though, knowing he was available and that there was little danger in him giving his daughter a quick ride to school had me thinking twice about my resolve to cut all contact.

  I’d eventually have to talk to him anyway.

  The hopeful look in Ginger’s eyes got me, and I sighed heavily, hoping the fresh air outside might calm my stomach. “Let me get my sweater, and we’ll walk over to ask, okay?”

  Her face lit up, and I felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over me. I’d managed to avoid that for the last two days, too busy trying not to throw up while taking care of Ginger full time, but the love Dawson and Ginger shared was deeper and built a stronger bond than any biological father and daughter I’d ever known. And I had all but forced the wedge that was going to be between them for god only knew how long.

  In slippers and an old, ratty cardigan that was soft and thick and warm, I walked the five-year-old next door and reminded her to knock. It was her house, but I could never be sure there wasn’t something going on inside Dawson wouldn’t want her to see. Not anymore.

  He opened the door, looking stunned to see us there, and if I hadn’t felt like I might collapse – and Ginger hadn’t gotten here first – I might have thrown myself at him. As it was, Ginger had her arms wrapped so tight around his denim-clad legs it looked like his knees might buckle from the pressure. He put a hand on the back of the girl’s small head, a l
oving gesture I knew all too well by now, and he looked at me with a question that quickly became concern. “Is everything okay?” he asked in a raspy voice that made my toes curl, even with my stomach churning.

  “Daddy, Mari is still sick, and I told her to rest. Can you take me to school, just today?” I apparently didn’t have to say anything. The child was going to explain the situation for me.

  Dawson’s eyes changed, and his concern grew deeper as he considered me. It was strange how I could see just that small difference in his expression. “You’re still sick? Mari…”

  I held a hand up to stop him and closed my eyes against a fresh wave of nausea. Swallowing hard, I told him, “I’m taking the day and going to the doctor. There’s no need to worry, okay? I’ll be better by the time she’s out this afternoon.” It was wishful thinking, I was sure, but I had to be certain Dawson focused on his own problems and not mine.

  “Do you need me to take you to the doctor?” he offered, still holding his hand on his little girl’s head.

  It sounded lovely, not having to be strong and face it alone, but I couldn’t let him do it. I couldn’t give in like that. He had other things to do, and I had my own agenda that didn’t involve drawing Dawson back into my life when he was going to be gone for however long they put him away. “I appreciate the offer, but I can make it. Besides, I might have to call you to pick Ginger up, if the appointment is later in the day. I’d rather have her taken care of.” I knew I wouldn’t be able to count on him for things like that very soon, but I would find a way to make other arrangements, when that time came.

  “Take care of yourself. I’ll get her to school. Are you ready, baby?” he asked, addressing Ginger now.

  She nodded. “See? I’ve got my backpack and everything.”

  With a smile and a nod, Dawson acknowledged her preparation and then looked at me as he told her, “Let me get my shoes on, and we’ll be on our way.”

  I knew he was giving me silent thanks for letting him have some time with his daughter, despite our arrangement otherwise. I gave an almost imperceptible nod and started to walk away. I couldn’t keep staring at him and keep my emotions under control.

  “Mari?” he called quietly. I glanced back over my shoulder, refusing to give into the urge to turn around and fall into his arms. “Can we talk later?”

  I didn’t know if I was ready for that. We’d just had the hardest talk ever a few days ago, and I was still drained from it. From one of his men attacking me. From taking his daughter away. And from being so sick. But it was going to happen sooner or later and, for once, I decided to rip the bandage off. “Sure. Are you going to be here all day?”

  He scowled, and I didn’t want to know what other obligations he might have. “Why don’t you call me after you see the doctor? We’ll coordinate.”

  Again, I nodded and walked away. I couldn’t handle any more of this. I could feel the nausea welling up in my throat and needed to get to the bathroom, fast. Worrying that Dawson was meeting with the Valves made it worse, and the alternative that he would be meeting with the police to cooperate with their investigation wasn’t any better. One meant danger to Ginger, to me, and I couldn’t allow that. The other meant no less danger for Dawson and took him away from the only family he had.

  It had been a long time since I’d thought how unfair life was, but right now, it was all I could think about as I stepped inside my house with every appearance of being calm. Then, I ran full throttle and fell to my knees in front of the toilet, nothing but acid and bile coming out. I hadn’t eaten much for the past few days – some crackers and sparkling water was about all I could handle – and it showed.

  Exhausted, I sat down and leaned back against the cool bathroom wall, closing my eyes. I’d have to get over my aversion to food if I was going to make it through this. And I certainly wasn’t going to the doctor. There wasn’t anything he could do for me right now. I’d just suffer through it, for now.

  Dragging myself off the floor, I rinsed my mouth, washed my face, and brushed my teeth, which had me feeling almost human again, and I went to the bedroom, gazing out the window to see Dawson pulling out of the driveway. For a split second, I panicked. Had I made a mistake? Anyone in the motorcycle gang could figure out that Dawson was most vulnerable when he was with his daughter, and they would guarantee he had her when it was time to go to school.

  I shook the thought away. I couldn’t be with Ginger twenty-four hours a day, and that meant she was vulnerable anyway. At least with Dawson there, she had someone to protect her. For the moment. How was Ginger going to react when the extended stay at my house became a permanent one? Dawson was confident he wouldn’t get more than a year, but I still didn’t know what charges he could have against him. He’d given me a vague idea of the things he’d done that he wasn’t proud of, but he hadn’t laid it all out on the table in detail. What if he got hit with twenty years? Or a life sentence?

  I couldn’t think about it, the worry churning my stomach worse. I forced myself to go to the kitchen and get some butter crackers, and I poured myself some strawberry soda, hoping all of that would help settle my stomach. I sat down at the kitchen table with the snack and my phone, though I didn’t know why I needed the phone. I wasn’t expecting a call from anyone. Dawson said to call him, and that would be later in the day. And no one else ever called.

  Realizing that just made me feel pathetic. I didn’t have any friends. The few neighbors who had been friendly before seemed to have gone all righteous on me when I started seeing Dawson, and the same was true of my coworkers. Imagine how they would look at me when Dawson disappeared with no explanation, and I still had his daughter. Not just a fool and a harlot for being with him, but now a single mother, as well.

  With my parents gone and my sister off gallivanting around the world as a flight attendant, I was alone, and the only friends I had were a beautiful little girl who had started to call me Mommy and a dangerous biker looking at heavy prison time. And they weren’t just friends; they were family. We were all going to be miserable.

  I made it through half my crackers before my eyelids started to droop, and I took advantage of the fact that I might actually be able to sleep. I trudged to my bedroom, not bothering to clear the table, and fell into my bed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  Hands on my ass got my attention and I rolled over to face Dawson, his eyes dark and hot. I could feel his cock against my thigh and was instantly aroused. I opened my mouth, wanting to tell him we couldn’t do this anymore, but he put a finger to my lips. “Don’t talk,” he whispered, and somehow, I knew it was important to be quiet, though I wasn’t sure why.

  He was already undressed, and he quickly pushed my pajama shorts down my legs and buried his fingers in my folds. He rubbed and teased and pushed inside, thrusting over and over until my moisture poured over his hand, and he sighed. “That’s it, Mari. Come for me.”

  The whispered words did me in, and the wave of pleasure stroked my skin like a loving caress as I shivered and moaned quietly. “Dawson, please!” I begged. I didn’t have to explain – he knew what I wanted, and he was ready to give it to me. He shifted his weight on top of me and then between my legs, and he rolled his hips back and forth, rubbing against my clit and teasing at my core. And when I couldn’t catch my breath, he drilled into me with a long, harsh thrust his cock was deep and satisfying, filling me, massaging every part of my inner walls.

  But something was different, and though there was the same desperation that we always shared in the bedroom, there was a tenderness I wasn’t used to in the way he touched me, a sensuality that was more pronounced, and it took me to a level of passion I wasn’t sure I would survive. Instead of the angry, violent pace that was our norm, he fucked me with long, thorough strokes that had me on the verge of blacking out with the pure ecstasy of it.

  I clung to him with my whole body, desperate not to lose him as I realized this felt like saying goodbye. His lips crashed down on mine, and then he f
illed me, his body shivering with the effort not to scream as he found his release. I milked him dry, my inner walls pulsating and contracting around his cock with my own explosive orgasm.

  I closed my eyes in delicious satisfaction as he collapsed, but I didn’t feel his weight on me, and it was strange. I clutched at him, but all I got was air, and I opened my eyes, finding my limbs wrapped around a pillow. It couldn’t have been a dream, I thought. It felt too real. But as I looked around and found myself completely alone – and wearing something completely different than I had pictured – I knew I’d imagined it all, and tears slid down my cheeks.

  I had no idea if I’d ever feel Dawson’s arms around me again, if he’d ever lie next to me in all his beautiful nakedness, and that broke my heart. I let the tears flow for a few minutes, mourning the loss of something I knew now to be more special than I’d ever wanted to believe. Then, I told myself to get over it. I had to be strong, for everyone. I had to carry myself through this, take care of a little girl who’d already had her life uprooted once before, and I had to make sure Dawson had enough confidence in my ability to do so that he could focus on taking care of himself and getting back to her as quickly as possible.