by Joanna Wylde
“Mel, if you don’t say something right now I’m breaking in,” Jessica told me, sounding worried.
“Don’t be silly,” I replied mildly. This was all so unreal . . . “There’s a skeleton key on top of the ledge over the door. That should work.”
I heard more rattling noises, then the door was opening and Jessica walked inside. She looked down at me, frowning.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Sitting on the bathroom floor.”
“Um, Mel?”
“Yeah?”
She knelt down slowly in front of me, picking up one of the sticks.
“Is this what I think it is?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“That depends on what you think it is,” I told her, feeling distant and detached. Was I in shock? I must’ve been in shock. Fascinating.
“It looks like two positive pregnancy tests.”
“Oh yeah. Then it’s definitely what you thought it was.”
“And these are yours?” she asked carefully, looking at me like I was a very fragile glass that might shatter at any minute. I sighed, then turned my head to meet her eyes.
“They’re mine,” I whispered, feeling tears start to run down my face. “Shit, Jessica. How could I be so stupid? I know better. I’m smarter than this.”
Scooting over close to me, she pulled me into her arms, running a hand over my hair. “Oh, Mellie. We’ll get through this—I promise. We’ll get through it together . . . Whatever you decide to do.”
“I’m not killing it,” I said quickly. “I don’t want to kill it.”
“Then you won’t kill it,” she told me, her voice firm. “And if someone has a problem, you can send them to me. I’m the crazy one, remember? I’ll just cut them—problem solved.”
Then she crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at me.
Suddenly I felt better.
This was scary—terrifying—but I didn’t have to do it alone. Jessica was here, and despite her crazy, flaky ways, there was one thing she never flaked out on. Kids. She loved those kiddos at the community center, put her heart and soul into teaching and mentoring them.
If I had Jess to help me, I’d be okay.
“I’m headed over to the jail today,” I said quietly. “Do you think I should tell him now?”
Jessica frowned.
“Do you have any idea how he’s going to react?”
“None. We’ve never talked about kids or anything.”
“Well, maybe you can feel him out today,” she said. “Get a sense for where he stands on the subject. If the moment’s right, tell him. Otherwise just wait until you’re ready. I know this probably feels like the end of the world, but you have months and months to figure things out. You don’t have to do it all today.”
She was right.
“Thanks, Jess.”
“No worries,” she replied, tucking in close to me. “You know, I always pictured this conversation going the other way.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’d always assumed I’d be the one who accidentally got knocked up,” she said with a laugh. “Although I’m glad it’s you. I’m not ready to go through pregnancy and birth and all that shit.”
“How do you always manage to say exactly the right thing and exactly the wrong thing, all at the same time?”
“Just a gift, I guess. Everyone has their talents.”
• • •
No matter how many times I went to see Painter at the county jail, I never got used to being searched—made me feel dirty. Like there was something wrong with me, because I was visiting someone inside that place where decent people shouldn’t go.
In the weeks since he’d been locked up, I knew the club was working to figure out what the hell had happened with his parole officer. If they had the full story, nobody was telling. Officially he was still on administrative leave, although I’d heard rumors that they might be pressing charges against him.
I just hoped Painter wouldn’t get caught up in it.
On the bright side, today was my last visit out here—they’d be releasing him tomorrow. According to Reese, none of this was normal and I shouldn’t worry about Painter.
Of course, he wasn’t the pregnant one.
By the time they finally brought him in to see me, I was so nervous that I’d started trembling.
“Hey, babe,” he said, his voice warm as he came to sit across from me at a table and stools painted bright orange. They were all bolted into the floor, presumably so none of them could be used as weapons.
Lovely.
“Hey,” I whispered, smiling at him. We weren’t supposed to touch, but sometimes he stretched his foot out toward mine under the table. “How’s it going?”
“I’m ready to get out of here,” he said, flashing me a smile. “I miss you. Miss riding my bike, too. Hell, I even miss that cockwad Puck. Fucker’s been down to see me twice a week. How’s that for rubbing it in?”
That got a laugh out of me, because I knew how much those visits meant to him.
“So I wanted to talk to you about something,” I started.
“What’s up?”
“About club life.” Hmm . . . how to say it? “Everyone says this isn’t the way things normally work—that this parole officer’s out to get the club or something. But I also know you have brothers who’ve served time. What about their families? I know most of them have old ladies and kids and stuff. What do guys like that do if they have to go to jail?”
“Whatever it takes,” he said, cocking his head. “Why do you ask?”
“I was out at Dancer’s house the other day,” I told him. “And I was looking at the pictures of their kids. They’ve got a really nice family. How does Bam Bam manage to pull off the fatherhood thing and still do what needs to be done for the club? Seems like it would be such a hard balance.”
Painter narrowed his eyes at me.
“Why don’t you ask me the real question,” he said, his voice serious. I took a deep breath.
“Do you want to have a family someday?”
Painter leaned back in his seat, eyes studying my face. Then he slowly shook his head.
“No fuckin’ way.”
Something twisted inside. I’d like to say it was my heart breaking, but odds were high it was heartburn. I’d been having that more and more lately.
“Never?” I asked, my voice small.
“Mel, I grew up in the foster care system. I was one of the lucky ones, because I got beat up, but I never got raped. Watched kids get raped, though. Watched kids pimped out. Ran away when I was eleven with a couple other boys and lived on the streets after that, right up to the point that they threw me in juvie. Wanna guess what I did to get locked up?”
I swallowed. “What did you do?”
A bitter smile twisted his face. “Not a goddamned thing. They throw you in detention if they don’t have anywhere else to put you. I had a bad reputation—troublemaker. None of the foster families would take me. Spent six months inside before they found me a new place, but by that point I’d already figured something out.”
He leaned closer, eyes intense.
“If you’re gonna do the time anyway, might as well do the crime.”
Then he sat back, crossing his arms in front of him.
“No fuckin’ way I’d bring a kid into this world. Wouldn’t risk doing that to him, and I already know I’d be a shit dad. I don’t even like kids. They smell weird, they do crazy things, and they’re always jumping out of nowhere. You want a baby daddy, you better look somewhere else.”
I swallowed again, staring at him.
“Okay, then. Good to know.”
He smiled at me, and this one reached his eyes. “Can’t wait to see you tomorrow, babe. Hold you. It’s gonna be great.”
“Sure,” I said faintly. “Great. We’ll have a spiffy good time. If you could excuse me, I need to hit the bathroom.”
Painter frowned. “You okay?”
“Fabu
lous,” I said, smilingly tightly. “But I really need to pee. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
Then I got the hell out of there.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ONE DAY LATER
PAINTER
Mel wasn’t waiting for me outside the jail.
Okay, so I wasn’t exactly expecting her to be . . . I knew she had class, and I didn’t want her to miss school. Still, some part of me obviously wished she’d blown it off, because I found myself looking for her, even as Picnic walked toward me, flanked by Horse.
“Good to see you wearing something that isn’t orange,” Pic said, pulling me into his arms for a rib-crushing hug. “You do okay in there?”
“Fine,” I said, glancing back toward the door, where a corrections officer stood watching. “You ever figure out what the fuck happened with Torres?”
“We’ll talk about it in the chapel,” he said, lowering his voice. “The brothers are all waiting for you. Oh, and the girls are planning a party for you tonight—should be nice. Mel’s been real solid while you were in here. Might be time to go ahead and talk to her about the old-lady thing.”
• • •
Forty minutes later we were all in the chapel. Took another ten to get settled enough to talk, what with all the hugs and shit.
“Okay, let’s get moving,” Picnic finally said. “Painter, grab a seat. There’s a lot going on and we gotta fill you in.”
To my surprise, Duck pulled out his usual chair for me, patting me on the shoulder.
“Enjoy the moment, brother,” he told me. “There’s a hard road up ahead, no question.”
“Christ, don’t play mind games with him,” Ruger snapped. “You’re a bastard, Duck.”
“No, Boonie’s a bastard. I’m a Reaper,” Duck replied, chuckling at his own lame joke. Horse rolled his eyes as Bolt snorted.
“Enough,” Pic said. “Let’s get moving on this, okay? The girls have food going and it smells too damned good to sit in here all day. Not only that, London just messaged me. She’s on her way out with Melanie, and somethin’ tells me Painter will be real interested in seeing her again.”
“The dick goes inside the girl,” Horse said helpfully. “Not your hand. Got it?”
“Shut the fuck up,” I said, grinning. I had a whole new list of fantasies to work through now that I was out again.
“Okay, here’s the story,” Pic said. “Apparently they’d been watching Torres for a while. The Evans bitch is out to get us—always suspected the club was behind her brother disappearing—and when she learned about the investigation she was all over it. She’d been setting him and several others up for at least six months before they pulled the trigger on it.
“Torres is still on administrative leave, but they’ll be pressing charges against all of them. Apparently they had a hell of a payoff system set up. The good news for us is Torres is stupid, but we aren’t. That means there’s no trail leading to us and they got plenty to convict him without the Reapers. He knows better than to cross us, so I think we’re in the clear there.”
“Guess that’s something,” I said. Pic shrugged.
“Well, the real problem is the rest of your parole. You’re out of chances now—she’s looking for Reaper blood, and you’re vulnerable. She’s convinced the club killed her brother.”
Several of the guys exchanged glances. Technically we hadn’t killed the guy . . . just delivered him to the cartel leaders he’d screwed over, so they could kill him. That shit was on him, ultimately—not like we told him to double-cross a fucking drug cartel.
“Anything we can do about her?” I asked.
“We’re working on it,” Bolt said. “Sooner or later we’ll find a way, but until then you need to be damned careful. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it,” I replied. “For the record, this sucks.”
“It is what it is,” Pic said. “Now on to other business. Wanted to give you an update on Gage. His situation’s good. He’s been hanging around with the Nighthawks a lot, so much that they’re already dropping hints about him prospecting. Not only that, they gave two of their prospects patches while you were locked up.”
“Not a huge surprise, I guess,” I murmured. “Still a damned shame to see a club go down like that. Think they’re gearing up for war?”
“Looks that way,” he affirmed. “Gage is doin’ great there, but they’ve been asking about you. He told ’em you got locked up again, so that’s one loose end tied off.”
“Still say we should just ride in there and take over,” Duck grunted. “They’re a support club. Time to assert some fucking authority.”
“Not until we have a handle on the situation north of the border,” Pic said. “The Nighthawk Raiders are only a symptom of the real problem. We’ll take out Marsh once we get the pipeline secured. Took us five years to build that trade up. Can’t afford to start over—too many people waiting to swoop in on our territory. We go after Marsh direct without securing the border and we might as well hand Hallies Falls over to the cartel with a fucking bow.”
Duck grunted. “You worry too much about money. This is about respect.”
Picnic sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers.
“Anyone else?”
“Sorry, Duck,” Bolt said. “But I’m with Pic on this. You’re right—it’s a matter of respect. But it’s also about business.”
“Painter, what about you?” Pic asked. That surprised me—I gave my reports and occasionally offered a comment, but meetings like this were usually about the more established guys making decisions.
“The Nighthawks are rotten,” I said slowly. “We can take them out anytime we want, easy. We do it right, we slide into the void and take over their trade, which is good for us. I agree that we have to maintain respect, but a few more weeks won’t make much of a difference. Give Gage time to work.”
“All in favor?” Pic asked. Everyone but Duck grunted an affirmative. He just growled at us, then rose from his chair to lumber off toward the bar.
“He seem grumpier than usual?” Horse asked.
“Been havin’ a rough time,” Pic said, his voice low. “Goin’ to the doctor a lot lately. Somethin’s up, but he won’t tell me what. Stupid fucking stubborn asshole. Painter, you got a minute? Want to talk to you—in the office.”
“Sure,” I said, rising to follow him out into the hall. His office was across the way, and something about getting called into it reminded me of when I’d gotten in trouble at school. There was a principal-ish feel to the place, even though the walls were papered with posters advertising headliners at The Line.
“What’s up?” I asked, settling into the chair in front of his big desk. He sat down in the chair behind it, one of those old-fashioned wooden ones with spindles on the back and rollers on the bottom.
“Just wanted to check in with you,” he said. “Now that we’ve talked things out. You doin’ okay?”
“Fine,” I said. “I mean, Mel was a little weird yesterday when she came to see me, but this has been a lot for her to take in. We’ll figure it out tonight.”
Picnic frowned.
“There’s something going on with that girl,” he admitted. “Jess called Loni last night, made her drive into town. She spent half the night at their place, and she won’t tell me why. She insisted there’s nothing wrong with Jessica, so I asked her about Mel and she got real quiet. Loni doesn’t lie to me—not after all the shit that went down—but sometimes she just won’t say anything. Not sure what’s going on, but you need to figure it out and take care of it. Let me know if you need any help.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out, seeing a text from Mel.
MELANIE: Just pulled up. You around?
ME: Be right out
“That’s Mel,” I said, feeling a stupid grin cross my face. God, I was turning into a dumbass. “She’s outside.”
Picnic gave a short, snorting laugh.
“Go get your girl,” h
e said. “Probably time to patch her anyway. That’ll settle her down.”
• • •
Probably makes me sound like a pussy, but it took everything I had not to run to the parking lot. I was eager to get laid, of course, but it was more than that. I wanted to see Mel. Hold her . . . Know that she was still safe and that she still belonged to me.
I managed not to tear off across the gravel like a kid when I saw her, but I walked fast. Fuck, but she was beautiful. She was gorgeous when I’d seen her inside, too, but the lights in there were shit. Made everyone look yellow, even my beautiful girl.
She gave me a soft, hesitant smile, like she wasn’t sure whether I’d be happy to see her or something. Never been happier to see anyone in my life.
“Melanie,” I said, catching her close for one of those deep kisses that felt like it could go on forever. Vaguely I knew that people were watching us, but I didn’t give a shit. I never gave a shit, actually—we liked to live life in the open here at the clubhouse. Mellie was still new, though. Didn’t want to scare her off.
Her hands were around my neck, burrowing into my hair as she climbed up my body. Fuckin’ loved it when she did that, for a variety of reasons—not least of these was I’m a hell of a lot taller than her and we didn’t always fit together quite right. Easier to boost her up than hunch over every time we were together.
The kiss was amazing, but sooner or later we all have to breathe.
“Hey,” she whispered, framing my face with her hands as she searched my eyes for something. I wasn’t sure what, but she looked almost scared. Pic was right—something was off here. “I’m crazy about you, did you know that?”
“Pretty fuckin’ crazy about you,” I murmured, kissing slowly down her neck. She shivered and my dick made a serious attempt to crawl out of my pants.
“Anytime,” she said. “But there’s something we should probably talk about first . . .”
Those weren’t good words. Those were never good words. I pulled back, studying her face.
“What?”