Liam: Lost Breed MC Series, Book 10

by Parker, Ali

  When I stood beside him, he did the same for me but placed my vegan patty on my bun. Uncle Tom scrunched up his nose and shook his head at me. “You’re sure you don’t want any sauce on that thing, Genevieve? It’s drier than the Sahara.”

  “Don’t shame my food choices.”

  Uncle Tom chuckled. “Not shaming. Not shaming. I approve. You’re stronger than I am. I just think you could stand to—I don’t know—put a little pep in its step. I mean, look at it.”

  I looked at my patty. “It looks like it won’t give me stomach problems in forty-five minutes.”

  Uncle Tom snorted with laughter as he plated his own burger. “Smart ass.”

  “It’s true,” I said in a sing-song voice as I made my way back to the table, where I piled my patty high with all the veggies I could get my hands on and a dash of mustard. Then I dropped down into my seat, rested each elbow on the edge of the table, and stared down at my creation. My mouth started watering.

  Uncle Tom and Marley whipped their burgers into shape and took up their own seats. Then we dug in together, breaking up bites of burger with sips of frosty drinks, pausing to share a couple of words in between stuffing our gullets.

  “It’s so good,” I managed after washing down a bite with my cider. The contents of my stomach were already pushing at my insides, but I didn’t care. There were still at least four bites left, and I wasn’t letting any of it go to waste.

  Uncle Tom leaned back in his chair and sucked his thumbs clean. The plate in front of him was empty, save for a couple of droplets of barbeque sauce and mustard. “It hit the spot. That’s for sure.”

  “Thanks for cooking,” Marley said.

  “For you girls? Any time.”

  The best thing about Uncle Tom was that he meant it. He loved having us over as much as we loved being here. This was a weekly affair for the three of us.

  “So how are things going with you and this new guy of yours, Genevieve?” Uncle Tom asked, absentmindedly rubbing his stomach. He wasn’t a big man by any means, but he’d put on a couple of inches around his middle over the past five or so years. He said it was a well-earned body. Not quite a dad bod, but not a fit bod either.

  He always believed in balance, so it suited him and the plaid shirts he wore year-round. Plaid flannel and denim were his go to. A good old cowboy in New York City.

  “Yeah.” Marley leaned forward and turned to the side so she could face me. Her short blonde pixie cut was wildly styled today with pieces shooting out in all directions, showing off the lowlights and darker hair near her roots. Her glittery gold hoops were not nearly as blinding as they had been in the sunshine earlier today. “How is Shane doing? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  I shrugged. “I broke up with him.”

  Marley blinked before exchanging a look with my uncle. “What? Just like that?”

  “Yeah,” I said simply.

  “Did something happen?” Uncle Tom asked, his warm features drawing together in a mask of concern.

  “No, not really. He was just kind of an ass, you know? He was way too comfortable spending my money. Which would be fine if we’d been together longer than four weeks.”

  Uncle Tom nodded knowingly. “Sorry, Genie. I know you were optimistic about this one.”

  “Optimism shmoptimism.” Marley snorted. “She just keeps going for the wrong type.”

  “I do not,” I said defensively.

  “Oh?” Marley asked, arching a perfectly shaped dark blonde eyebrow. “You don’t? Really? Who was the guy you were so into before Shane? Chad? Or some other douchebag name like Chet or something.”

  “Corey,” I said, shifting in my seat to cross one leg over the other. “And he wasn’t that bad.”

  “He asked you to buy him a car,” Marley said flatly.

  “Yes. Well. He knew what kind of money I had access to.”

  “He was a prick,” Marley said.

  “And I broke up with him. Just like Shane. What more do you want from me?”

  Marley rolled her eyes and looked to Uncle Tom for support. My uncle shook his head vigorously. “Oh no. Don’t look at me. I’m not getting involved in this.”

  “Smart,” I told him. “It doesn’t matter. Just drop it, Marley. I’m done with men for a while. They’re nothing but headaches and bullshit and—”

  “Hey,” Uncle Tom said, giving me big puppy-dog eyes.

  “Not you, Uncle Tom,” I assured him with a smile. “You’re a huge catch.”

  “Definitely.” Marley winked at him. “If you weren’t Genevieve’s uncle, I’d—”

  “Whoa,” I said, throwing out a hand and clamping it over Marley’s mouth. “No. No. We are not going there.”

  Uncle Tom, bless his heart, had turned a bright shade of red. He spared himself further embarrassment by making himself busy. As he collected the plates and food off the table, he changed the subject. “And how are things going with the Women’s Shelter plans?”

  The Women’s Shelter. The bane and passion of my existence.

  “It’s going,” I said. “I finally have an appointment to present my blueprints and pitch my plan to some city officials in a few weeks. And I’m taking a tour with a city worker on Tuesday to scout out some of the current shelters. I want to know where the biggest opportunities for improvement lie. Everyone I talk to about this seems to think my plans are to build what already exists. But they couldn’t be more wrong. This was my mother’s vision years ago. And I’m going to follow it through. But better.”

  Uncle Tom put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Your folks would be very proud of you, Genie. Very proud.”

  “Besides the whole, boy-crazy fiasco,” Marley muttered.

  Uncle Tom started chuckling before he sought refuge in the house as I turned my glare on my friend. “Can you not?”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” I said.

  “Because why?”

  I groaned. “You’re intolerable, Marley. You know that?

  “Wanna buy me a car?” she teased.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. Our friendship was like this. Constant bickering, peppered with moments of genuine humor, love, and silliness.

  I shook my head at her. “I already bought you a car.”

  “You’re right. A boat, then?”

  “Well, I was thinking a yacht might be nice.”

  “A yacht?” She gasped, clapping her hands on her cheeks dramatically. “Are you being serious, or are you fucking with me?”

  “I’m being serious. But don’t get too excited. This isn’t something I want to do this year. Maybe next summer, once things with the shelter are well underway. I can’t afford to have my focus divided. And let’s be real. If I have a yacht, I’m not going to want to set foot on land for weeks at a time.”

  “We could take it to the Caribbean.”

  “We could take it everywhere,” I said, lifting my cider to her drink so we could toast to a future of lounging top deck in our bikinis.

  Or naked.

  That was what besties were for, right?

  Fuck the tan lines. I’d just make sure to buy a yacht big enough that no other sailors-by could steal a peek at our goodies.

  Chapter 3

  Liam

  Jamie Walters hooked her arm through mine as we walked side by side down the New York City sidewalk. We had a destination. The Crow. It was a trendy, moody, central coffee shop in the city that we’d discovered a few months ago in the middle of summer trying to seek refuge from the sweltering heat. Their iced coffees were as good as their hot brews, and they made the best grilled sandwiches in a twenty-mile radius.

  Jamie let out a contented sigh as she gazed at the trees inset in the sidewalk, spread out about ten feet apart each so they lined the streets with their red and copper leaves. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The fall is my favorite time of the year. Nothing beats the colors. Especially here.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  She looked up at me. “What has y
ou in such a gloomy mood, Liam?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’ve been off for weeks,” she said skeptically.

  Jamie had been able to see right through me within weeks of us meeting. She was a spunky, fun, creative young woman, and she was irreplaceable in Axel’s shop. I liked hanging around there to spend time with her and whoever else was on shift, and as the months passed after joining the MC, Jamie and I became fast friends. We had a lot in common, not to mention similar temperaments and age, that made it easy for us to click.

  But it also made it easy for her to see when something was on my mind.

  “I can’t really put my finger on it,” I told her.

  She nodded knowingly. “I see. A seasonal thing, perhaps?”

  “Perhaps.”

  She nudged my hip with hers. “You can tell me, you know? I don’t judge.”

  “I know.”

  “So?”

  “So… nothing. There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Bullshit,” she said.

  I chuckled. “Fine. You want to know?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

  I sighed and recalled how Owen hadn’t really understood what I was saying this past weekend at the birthday party. It might go right over her head, too. “I guess I’m a bit overwhelmed. Things are changing.”

  “Change is good.”

  “Maybe change isn’t the right word.”

  Jamie stayed quiet and waited for me to carry on.

  I looked down at the sidewalk. “It feels like things are ending.”

  “Ending?” She cocked her head to the side and let out a soft giggle. “What do you mean, ‘ending’?”

  “Like I said. I can’t put my finger on it. It’s just a feeling. This winter feels daunting. Like nothing will be the same once it’s passed, and spring will look different than it ever has.”

  Jamie tightened her hold on my arm. “You might be right.”

  I glanced sharply at her. “I thought you were supposed to make me feel better?”

  She giggled and stopped when we arrived at the door to The Crow. I tugged it open for her, and she ducked inside ahead of me, turning to face me and walk backward toward the counter. “I’m validating your feelings. Doesn’t that make you feel a little better?”

  “No. Not even a little bit.”

  Jamie snickered and turned to face the cashier, who greeted us with a friendly smile. She knew Jamie by name, and the two girls chatted before we placed our order. Then we were handed a plastic number “12” which we stood up on our table by the window so they would know which people to bring the food and drinks to.

  Jamie rested her chin in her palm as she eyed me. I tried to look distractedly out the window, but her stare drew me in. “What?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I might be feeling some of what you’re feeling. On a small scale.”

  “Yeah?” I asked, shimmying closer.

  Jamie nodded. “Yeah. I mean, everything is different than it used to be. People are growing. Changing. Becoming parents and stuff. Everyone is just, I don’t know, tired?”

  I frowned and let her words sink in.

  “Tired” pretty much summed it up. That spark—the wild, fierce, take-no-prisoners way of life of the MC—wasn’t as hot as it used to be. Or as bright. The shift had been subtle and probably much needed, but I wasn’t ready for it. I was still woefully young and wanted more time in the sun before I threw in the towel and submitted to mundane life.

  Not that there was anything wrong with that.

  I just didn’t want it yet.

  “Do you think it’s because of, well, you know…” I trailed off.

  Jamie arched an eyebrow. “No, I don’t know. You’ll have to use your words.”

  I didn’t want to hurt her, but I had to ask. “Do you think it all started when people got killed?”

  “What started? The change?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Jason. Hyde. Reed. All of it. Do you think that played a part in it?”

  Jamie broke eye contact and looked down at the table. I hated bringing it up like this. She and Hyde had been a thing. I didn’t know how serious of a thing they’d been, but when he was killed, Jamie was heartbroken, and it was obvious that she’d developed real feelings for him. Even now, I wasn’t quite convinced she was over him.

  She lifted her gaze back to meet mine. “It might have played a small part, yeah. But so has new life.”

  “Huh?”

  “Kids,” she said like she was talking to a wall. “Kids, Liam. They shift priorities and goals and lifestyles. As they should.”

  “I guess.”

  “So does love.”

  I was about to ask her what the hell she was talking about, but one of the baristas arrived with a silver tray of sandwiches and iced coffees. We took our food off the tray and set it aside, and before I dug in, I leaned in close, like I was telling a secret. “What do you mean?”

  She stared at me blankly. “Love. It changes people. Especially men.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh my God,” she groaned as she raked her fingers through her dark hair. “You’re so dense sometimes. Forget it. I’m not explaining it to you. You’ll understand when you meet the right girl. You’re still young.”

  “I’m the same age as you.”

  “Yeah. Young.”

  “Fair enough.”

  She took a bite of her sandwich. A little dollop of mustard collected in the corner of her mouth, and I chuckled as she licked at it with the tip of her tongue, gave up, and wiped it away with her napkin.

  “Shut up,” she mumbled.

  My mouth opened to offer a snarky comment, but I clamped it shut as my eyes were drawn to a beautiful young woman walking by the cafe window.

  “Damn,” I whispered without realizing it.

  Jamie followed my gaze and watched the woman pass. “You’re dreaming, dude.”

  Hell yeah, I am.

  The girl was movie-star sexy.

  She had a mane of long, shimmery blonde hair that dazzled my eyes in the autumn sun. I couldn’t see her eyes behind her big-framed sunglasses, but I imagined they were lovely and bright. Her cheeks were rosy, her skin tanned, her lips full, pink, and glossy.

  The clothes she wore spoke of wealth and a lot of it. She had on flowing white pants that were tight at her waist and flowed out, billowing around her ankles as she walked. Each step revealed the point of a dazzling gold shoe and red-painted toes. Her white blouse was tucked into the pants and broken up with a thin gold belt. Gold accessories pulled everything together, including the buckles on her white handbag which she had draped over the crook of her shoulder.

  “Is this what love feels like?” I asked as I turned to watch her cross the street. She wasn’t alone. She was with another woman dressed in a black skirt and matching blazer.

  Jamie snorted. “No. That’s called infatuation. Or lust.”

  “Feels like love.”

  “Shut up, Liam.”

  My eyes were glued to the woman’s ass as her hips swayed with every step she took. She hopped up onto the sidewalk and turned toward the plainer woman she was with, who she offered a radiant smile to.

  I clutched at my heart. “Holy Hell.”

  “Liam,” Jamie said in her most impressive scolding tone. “You realize she’s way out of your league, right? Like, galaxies out of your league?”

  “Maybe she likes bikers.”

  Jamie shot a look across the street, where the two women had stopped in front of a hotel or something with a “No Vacancy” sign outside. “I doubt it. The handbag she’s carrying alone is worth over ten grand.”

  I blinked at her. “For a purse?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  “Yep.”

  “I have to meet her.”

  Jamie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Girls like that don’t fall for boys like you, Liam. Spare yourself the embarrassment and let her go.”

>   “I don’t have to be a boy like me.”

  “This isn’t Aladdin, Liam. You can’t make a wish and magically be someone else to woo your princess.”

  I grinned. “Sure, I can. Watch my jacket, will you?”

  Chapter 4

  Genevieve

  Tracey Watkins was your standard city worker. She dressed like a city worker. Talked like one. Even walked like one. Professional, clean cut, straight lines, rule follower. I respected her, and she, in turn, respected me, and by the time we arrived at the front doors of the first women’s shelter on our list of places to visit today, she and I had bonded.

  Over what?

  Shitty ex-boyfriends, of course.

  Tracey glanced at the flashy watch on her wrist and shook it out to cover it with her sleeve when she let her hand fall back to her side. “I do apologize, Miss London. Daniel is usually never late.”

  Daniel, her assistant, was the one bringing the reports on the shelters. He had all the documents with the information I needed, and I didn’t want to start without him.

  I smiled. “That’s perfectly all right. I’m sure he got caught up in the traffic. I’m not under a time crunch.”

  Tracey compulsively checked her phone for the next few minutes we were standing outside.

  In an effort to distract her and hopefully spare poor Daniel her wrath of frustration, I tried to get her talking. “Is this a common pursuit for people right now?”

  “Wanting to open a shelter?” Tracey asked, cocking her head to the side. Her short black bob swished until falling immaculately into place.

  “Yes. Women’s shelters, specifically.”

  Tracey pursed her lips. “Not as common as it should be. As soon as I caught word of a woman with her own financial backing looking at opening her own shelter, I jumped on it. I had to shuffle some things around at my office, of course, to make it happen, but I just knew I needed to meet you. There aren’t enough safe places in this city to accommodate the population size. And it’s only getting worse.”