Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by C. M. Stunich

  “He paid me a little visit at my house this morning,” I say, testing her reaction as I smoke my cigarette, the cherry burning bright and orange in the early evening light.

  “Brent?” she asks, her reaction seeming genuine. “Why would Brent be at your place?”

  “That's a question I'm hoping you can help answer. You told me your dad wasn't interested in working with the FBI.” Her eyes widen and I can see the color draining from her skin. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Fuck. No. I wanted to play around with this girl for a while, have a good time.

  But if she's working with the feds? The boys would not take kindly to that information.

  For a moment there, I hate my position in the club with a passion. It only lasts for a second, but it scares the crap out of me. My brothers, and the club, they come first. Always. Forever. I proved that with Landon last week, and if I had to, with this girl …

  “Brent's with the FBI, yeah, but he's here on vacation.”

  “Vacation?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder at the sky, at the clouds clinging to the air above the ocean. “Why the hell would he want to have a holiday out here?”

  “Brent and my brother are friends, and …” Lyric shakes her head and holds up her hands. “I'm not talking about this with you. I told you my dad didn't care about your club or the feds or anything but getting re-elected. What I said was true. Brent isn't on official FBI business.”

  I narrow my eyes on her, but her words ring with truth. I'm no human lie detector like my brother, Glacier, but I've got a decent track record at reading people.

  “I think he wants me back,” she blurts when I don't say anything for a moment. My fingers pinch tight on the cig and ash falls to the cement walkway. “He asked me out to dinner tonight.”

  “So why are you here with me then?” I ask, softening towards her. I know I should keep my guard up, that I should put her through the ringer, scare the shit out of her and make sure she's telling the truth.

  But I'd rather not.

  Fuck.

  “I'm not with you,” Lyric says, smoothing her hands over her hair. It's in that horrible bun again. “I'm just not exactly thrilled about the idea of dating a guy who dumped me.” She pauses and then looks back up at me with a face that dares me to comment on that.

  “He dumped you?” I ask, giving her an approving once-over and flicking my tongue over my lower lip. Hopefully she can tell by the bulge in my pants just how much I approve of what I see. “The guy with the weird teeth?”

  “Brent has nice teeth,” she says defensively. “Anyway, that's not your business. I don't even know why I'm still out here talking to you. Goodnight, Mr. McBride.”

  When she moves to walk away, I reach out and grab her arm, curling my fingers tight around the sleeve of her black suit jacket. It's much better than the gray. Still ugly though.

  “If you're lying to me about this FBI crap, you'd best speak up now.” I yank her towards me and flick my cigarette into the grass. “If you tell me the truth, then maybe I can cut you a little slack.”

  Her eyes go wide and her fingers fly to the strap of her purse.

  “Are you threatening me?” she gasps, more like she's pissed off than scared. “I can't believe I had sex with you!” Lyric tears her arm from my grasp and narrows her gaze on me. “Screw you, Royal. Get the hell off my lawn and don't come back.”

  “At least she didn't slap you again,” Glacier says, his eyes as blue as mine are brown, bright and deceptively cheerful. He's an even bigger monster than I am. As the MC's enforcer, he keeps everyone in line and helps clean up the inevitable spills of club life. Sin for sin, Glacier wins out in the bad boy category.

  “To small miracles,” I say, lifting my glass and downing it in a single swallow. Fauna refills it without my having to ask. Bless her bloody heart. “I really don't think she knows anything,” I say, but the words feel forced. She works at the mayor's office, dated that blond douche. She's as wrapped up in that world as I am in mine.

  But then why did she tell me the truth?

  She could've lied, could've pretended not to know Brent, but instead she told me everything.

  Maybe I just want to believe her? It feels like a mistake, but as president, it's my mistake to make.

  “Your afternoon might not have been productive, but mine sure as shit was. Our weapons shipment is in, everything present and accounted for. I even managed to have a chat with one of the bastards who was in on the heist.”

  My mood picks up at that.

  “And?”

  “He didn't last long—took a stray bullet during the standoff.” A chill travels down my spine. Usually does when Glacier's around. It's no mystery how he got his nickname. His real name is Saint. Oh the irony. “I can't figure out if he and his boys are just lowlives who made a big mistake or if this goes further. I mean, what kind of numb nut fucktard tries to rob two MCs simultaneously? Man must be crazy.”

  I stare into my drink a moment, spinning it in a circle, the rings on my right hand bumping against the glass.

  “What did he have to say for himself?” I ask, taking a sip, letting the Jameson burn in the back of my throat. I sit back on my school and let my eyes wander around the room. It's just Glacier, Fauna and me in here right now. In the background, “Absolute Zero” by Stone Sour plays, the perfect backdrop to the red and black striped walls, the leather couches and the marble topped bar, complete with a fucking motorcycle inside of it. That was Janae's idea, to put the old vintage bike behind glass and use it as the bar.

  “If I'd had more time with the guy,” he begins and I get that little chill again. Glacier sighs and shrugs his shoulders, lifting his beer to his lips. He's a strange sight, this blond haired boy buried in a sea of tattoos and piercings. If he wasn't so marked up, I might mistake him for one of those rich little brats that flies up here in the summer to pollute my town with their bullshit. “Anyway, he said that he and his buddies got wind of the shipment a long time before it happened.”

  I sit up a little straighter and lean against the metal back of my chair, a jumble of old bike parts that Dober welded together in some sort of fucking art piece or something. Uncomfortable as hell, but it looks nice, so I let it slide.

  “Landon,” I say and Glacier nods, his face dropping at the mention of our lost brother. “Landon,” he confirms.

  “Anything else?” I ask, filled with the sudden need to get the hell out of here. I've never felt that way about the clubhouse, not once in my entire life, and I started hanging around here when I was seventeen years old.

  “Just that,” Glacier says, glancing over at me like he can tell what I'm feeling. “At this point, Smoky and I are stumped, not sure where to go from here.”

  “Check into that FBI douche,” I say, slamming back my whiskey and setting the glass back on the counter. “But don't let him know that you're even glancing his way. The last thing we need is to bring a full investigation crashing down on our heads.”

  “Got it,” Glacier says, glancing over his shoulder as the music slows and the sound of high heels echoes against the vaulted ceilings. I follow his gaze and find Mia waiting in the doorway to the common room, arms folded under her small breasts, teeth worrying at her lower lip. Just what I fucking needed tonight, more shit to deal with. “You get out of here and let us worry about that guy for now.”

  “Thanks brother,” I say, slapping him once on the shoulder and heading over to where Mia stands in her red heels and black leather pants. She's a fucking looker, this one. But a looker who doesn't know how to listen to shit. “I thought I told you to take a fucking holiday?”

  She flicks her eyes up to mine, pleading, begging, the fingers of her right hand reaching out and brushing down my bare arm.

  “I don't have anywhere to go but here,” she whines, stepping closer to me, pushing her breasts into my chest. “And I thought you might be missing me?”

  I reach down and pry her hand off, taking a step back to put some space between us. I feel a l
ittle bad for Mia, I do. She has a shitty home life and an even shitter job. But none of that's my problem, and if I don't make an example out of her, nobody here will take me seriously.

  “When I said holiday, I meant vacation. Do you understand that a little better or should I write it down for you?”

  “Royal,” she pleads, but a few of the guys have just walked in the front door. Word spreads quick here, so they'll know I told Mia to stay away for a while. God, I hate this shit sometimes. Things were a hell of a lot easier before I became president.

  “If you were a man, I'd beat the shit out of you for disobeying me.” Mia's jaw drops and her eyes fill with tears, but I pretend I don't notice, tucking my fingers into my front pockets like I'm already bored with the conversation. “Get your ass off the compound and don't show your face here until you're pretty damn sure I've forgotten about this little incident.” I lean in closer, my lips right next to her ear. “And you better be fucking positive that I have because if I see you before then, you're out. You will not step foot anywhere near the club's property ever again.”

  I stand up straight and watch as her face crumbles.

  This is one of those moments where I decide to turn off my emotions. Don't need to feel anything at all for this girl right now. Mia and me, we've only slept together a handful of times, but I always thought she was the prettiest of all the leather lovers. Somebody soon's going to snatch her up as their old lady.

  But that person's not going to be me.

  “Sorry, love, but this is the way it has to be. Live with it or leave—permanently. Your choice.”

  Mia nods once, rubbing her hands up and down her upper arms like she's cold.

  “I'll go,” she says, looking up at me one more time. “But if you need me, you know where to find me?” Mia reaches out and squeezes my arm, but when I don't react, she turns and walks away with her head down.

  It's odd for me to turn down a blatant invitation—especially from a girl as gorgeous as Mia—even one who blatantly refuses to listen to club law. In the past, even that wouldn't have stopped me from taking her home myself and grabbing a quickie along the way.

  Lyric Rentz, what in the bloody fuck have you done to me?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Lyric

  When I head outside to leave for work in the morning, I find the pile of gear that Royal left here for me. There's a leather jacket, a pair of leather pants with some sort of padding or something in them, gloves, even a pair of black boots. I have no idea how he knew what sizes to get, but it all looks like it would fit.

  “Asshole,” I mumble, dragging the stuff inside and dumping it on my couch. I'll return it all tomorrow during our meeting. If there was any way I thought I could get out of it then I would. But I've worked too hard for this, risked too much to blow it all now.

  He knows.

  That thought's been running through my head all night long, giving me nightmares that forced me up in bed with sweat running down the sides of my face. When Royal asked me point blank about Brent, I thought I was going to have a heart attack.

  Damn it, Brent. What the hell are you doing?

  Things weren't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to come to town for a few days and poke around, make the Wolves think they were under investigation, just to give them enough motivation to sign on with the city.

  And now?

  I want to scream.

  But I don't. My family trained me too well. We don't let our emotions get the better of us—if we even have any at all. We keep our chins up, shoulders back and we keep pushing through with smiles plastered across our faces.

  For whatever reason, my fingers itch to reach out and tear my hair out of its bun, let it tumble around my shoulders and engulf me. I want to rip off my ugly yellow sundress and light it on fire, dress up in Royal's club jacket and hop on his bike.

  What. The. Hell.

  Something's seriously wrong with me right now. The man threatened me last night. At least, I think he did. When I replay the conversation in my mind, all I can hear is him telling me that he's not the kind of man who takes no for an answer.

  I shiver and shrug my white cardigan up my shoulders.

  It's Thursday morning, so I'm all dressed up for family brunch. It's been a tradition since I was twelve, meeting together like this no matter what our schedules are. None of us have ever skipped out on one although at times it feels like certain people in my family are less than present, phones in their hands or laptops on the table.

  I used to wonder why we didn't do this on the weekend until I learned that my dad keeps Saturdays open for golf and Sundays open for church.

  As I open the driver's side door of my car, I see my neighbor Mrs. Elden glaring at me from across her yard. She's been in the same book club as my mother since I was in high school and she's never once looked at me the way she's looking at me right now.

  When I smile and wave at her, she purses her lips and turns away.

  Great.

  She must've seen Royal and me in the yard last night.

  Brunch with the family … this should be fun.

  “I don't care what they have to say about that,” my dad says, his phone glued to his ear while he sips coffee and leaves his plate of pancakes completely untouched. “I won't take no for an answer.”

  My head snaps up and my mind flickers with images of Royal. It's eerie, hearing my dad say something so similar to the president of the Alpha Wolves MC. But, like I said, I guess they really are both politicians. Well, good for them. They can be men who don't take no for an answer. I'll be the woman who doesn't take no for an answer.

  “Mom is not happy with you,” Kailey teases, folding and unfolding her napkin on her lap while my brother pounds away at his computer and my mother passes me strange glances from across the table. Her pale brown hair is swept up like mine, but in a less boring, more graceful sort of a way, and we're very nearly matching in our choice of sundresses.

  “Why wouldn't she be happy with me?” I ask blandly, like I have no idea that Mrs. Elden probably called her in a panic and ratted me out. I stare down at my bacon and eggs, moving the yellow fluff with my fork. I feel like I'm suffocating right now. How sad is that? Sitting on the dock above the water, waves crashing against the shore and gulls crying from the beach. I should feel free out here, beautiful scenery all around me, untouched and wild. My beautiful, beautiful Lost Coast. I wish it would stay lost, but I know that'll never happen. The population's gone from the hundreds when I was a kid, to a hundred thousand and growing.

  “Sandra Elden called her last night, ranting and raving about how the mayor's daughter was standing in her front yard with a felon.”

  “I'm pretty sure Royal McBride isn't a felon. He's never been convicted of anything.”

  Kailey gasps and covers her mouth when my dad glances over at us, furrowing his brows briefly before we're entirely forgotten again.

  “So you were with Royal!” she whispers excitedly back at me as I glance down the dock, past the guard rails and out at the sea. It's much quieter today than usual, the navy blue waters kissing the shore with white frost.

  “So what? I'm an adult. I can kiss … or do whatever with whomever I want.”

  “Oh my God,” Kailey says, leaning back in her chair and biting her lower lip. “Dad's going to kill you when he finds out.”

  “I'm twenty-eight years old, Kailey. Dad can't do anything to me.” But I know that's a lie. He could fire me. Or make my life here a living hell. There are all kinds of things he could do to me.

  I risk another glance at my father and brother, but neither of them are paying much attention to me. My mom, on the other hand. She stares me down like she's never seen me before, her green eyes wide and her mouth pursed tightly beneath her gentle, unassuming nude lipstick. She's pretty, but just pretty enough to make Dad's friends look twice. As much as I love my mother, she doesn't stand out. Just like me. We're cut from the same cloth.

  My mind drifts sudden
ly back to Royal and those leather clothes sitting on my couch.

  I force my attention back to my food and just manage to finish my plate by the time my dad and brother excuse themselves and abandon the three of us at the table in a wash of awkward silence.

  “Lyric,” my mother begins, her voice soft and unthreatening.

  “Mom, I—” I start, but she cuts me off, something that's completely out of character for her on a normal day.

  “Don't say anything, Lyric Lenore Rentz. Don't … I couldn't bare it.” She glances away from me and lifts her napkin to her lips, dabbing at an imaginary bit of nothing. “I don't know exactly what happened or who you were with, but I don't care.”

  “Mom,” I begin again, but she's clearly not done with whatever speech she's prepared.

  “I don't want the details, Lyric,” she snaps, far more agitated than I've seen her in years. The last time she looked like this, Sully was being dragged home by the cops for driving drunk. Dad covered that one up, of course, but she was still furious at him for weeks. “Do whatever you need to do in your private life, but don't let it screw up your father's career.” She lifts her gaze and looks straight at me, her pale porcelain face highlighted by a stray shaft of sunlight. “If he gets word of this …” She trails off and shakes her head, her pale blue earrings swinging with the motion. “Well, I've managed to take care of it for now, but I'm trusting you to have better judgment in the future. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

  I don't understand. I don't want to understand.

  I don't want to be quiet or unassuming or easy going.

  I want to be heard.

  Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath.

  “Of course. It won't happen again.” Even if I don't like this, don't like being shutdown or told what to do, I can play nice for now. I'm telling her what she wants to hear because I have to do this for me, to make my dreams happen. Getting my dad re-elected, getting the Wolves under control, that's the most important next step in my career. I want to be a state senator, at the very least. At the most … I can't even dare to dream that far right now.