Hopeless: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Damned Devils MC) (Broken by the Biker Collection Book 2)

by Nina Park

  The brothers probably wouldn’t have any problem with Kit staying there if they got a look at her, but then he’d be fending them off himself.

  “The back door is over here,” he said, helping her step over the uneven stones leading to the clubhouse. The music pulsed quieter back here. The rush of traffic from the nearby freeway hummed in the distance.

  He pushed on the metal back door, inviting a rush of music and commotion to bleed into the night air. Bastard led her into the back hallway, which was thankfully empty. The carpet was ratty and brown, torn in some spots to reveal the cement flooring underneath. He never noticed it before, but with Kit behind him, he wondered how the clubhouse truly looked to outside eyes.

  “Over here,” he said, turning down the hall toward one of the last rooms. They stepped into his bedroom; weak yellow light illuminated the simple queen bed and wardrobe. There wasn’t much else, since Bastard didn’t live here permanently. A small door off to the side led to the bathroom, which Kit sized up.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  She drew a deep breath, worry dancing on her face. “I don’t know.”

  He shut and locked the door behind them, then sat gently on the bed. She joined him a moment later, staring at the tests in the bag.

  “You wanna wait until morning?” he asked.

  “No.” Her voice was firm. The bag rustled as she lifted one of the tests to inspect it more closely. “I want to do it tonight.”

  “All right. Hey, you want anything to drink?” He stood, suddenly determined to give her space. Maybe she needed to be alone or something. The whole thing felt serious, like a funeral. “I can grab you some water or whatever you want.”

  “Well, I’d love a shot, but maybe I should wait,” she cracked.

  He tried to force a laugh, but it sounded fake. “Okay. I’ll be back.” He let himself out of the room, mind spinning. What the fuck was he gonna do if it was positive? Being in that cramped bedroom with her made it all too real, all too fast. He bolted down the hallway, bursting through the doors leading to the lounge area at the front of the clubhouse. Rock music throbbed around him, the typical weekend scene greeting him: brothers playing pool, scantily dressed women hanging off of them. A full bar, every bar stool occupied by a brother in a cut with a sexy girl in his lap.

  Bastard frowned, hurrying to the kitchen. This wasn’t his scene tonight. It hadn’t been his scene for a while, and he suspected Kit was the reason. But almost any other night, he’d be one of the brothers entertaining a frisky and willing lady visitor. The Damned Devils were notorious for their support of local strippers, and every party made sure to feature this.

  “Bastard, you want a brew?” One of the LA brothers, Zed, nodded his way, one eye pinched shut. He held out a condensing beer.

  “Thanks.” He grabbed it but continued on his way to the kitchen. Inside, the Vice President of the Damned Devils was pressed up against a girl. They didn’t even notice Bastard as he sidled in, fishing a few bottles of water from the fridge. He left again without even saying hi, and hurried back to the hallway. Just before he pushed through the threshold leading to the quieter part of the house, a hand grabbed his shoulder.

  “Where you running off to?”

  The girl’s name was Heart. Maybe. Something like that. They’d hooked up once a few months back. All he knew about her was that she loved the Damned Devils and would give almost anyone a lap dance if they asked for it. “Hey.” He forced a smile. “On my way out.”

  “Without me?” She narrowed her eyes, pressing herself against him, making her intentions known. Her breasts spilled out of her low cut top and he grimaced. He’d had a great time when they’d hooked up, but he wasn’t one for repeats on a good day. Tonight especially there was only one place he had to be.

  “Sorry, doll. Gonna have to find another play toy.” He shook her off of him, pushing through to the back hallway. When the music receded he relaxed his shoulders which he hadn’t even realized he’d been tensing.

  Inside his room, the bathroom door was shut and Kit was nowhere to be seen. He sighed softly, setting the beer and waters down.

  “Kit, you good?” he called out.

  “Yeah, just a second.” Her voice was muffled by the door. A moment later the toilet flushed. Water ran at the sink. And then the door swung open. Kit’s face was tight and drawn, her hands empty.

  “Where’s the test?” He sat gently on the edge of the bed, like this might somehow influence the turn of events this evening.

  “In there.” She wrung her hands. “I hope I did it right.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t fuck it up.” The snarky comment was that he didn’t know how someone could screw up “piss on this,” but it wouldn’t help. Dammit, he was going to help. He looked her up and down, fingers twitching as he fought the urge to scoop her into his arms, bring that soft, fragrant body against him. He’d missed her more than he allowed himself to acknowledge. But things were weird. This was weird.

  “I did both of them,” she admitted, tugging at her hair. “Maybe I should have done one tomorrow morning. Shit. I didn’t think about that. I’m just—”

  “Kit.” He patted the bed next to him. She joined him reluctantly, keeping a solid foot of space between them. “Do you want me to go look at the tests?”

  She sighed, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t know. Yes. But also no.” The bed creaked as she sat down. He wrapped an arm around her waist, against his better judgement. Warmth slid through him and his vision went spotty for the briefest of seconds. This woman was like black magic.

  “I’ll look.”

  She nodded, glancing over at him with worry in her eyes. “Okay. Go check.”

  He squeezed her side and stood, legs feeling heavier than normal as he walked to the bathroom. He poked his head inside the white tiled bathroom, the two tests laid out on the cracked countertop, exactly parallel, exactly equidistant from the edges of the counter. He blinked. Are you ready to find out?

  Bastard stepped closer, spotting the tiny windows of the tests. Tension drew the air tight. His breath stilled as he leaned to read them.

  Both had big plus signs staining the readout. His stomach shrank to a hard knot.

  No doubt about it. Kit was pregnant.

  He turned on his heels, heart thrumming strangely in his chest as he appraised Kit. She looked up at him, cradling her face in her hands.

  “They’re both positive.” Bastard’s voice sliced through the air, harsh and foreign in the suspenseful silence. Kit gasped, leaping to her feet.

  “Let me see.” She brushed past him, gripping onto his arm as she looked. Another gasp escaped her. “Oh my God.”

  The low hum of the light in the bathroom was the only sound between them for a few moments. Kit looked up at him, confusion written across her face. He squeezed her arm, trying to think of all the possible paths from here. Thoughts clanked together in his brain, useless and heavy.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  A puff of air escaped her and she ripped herself away, resting on the edge of the bed. Bastard joined her, leaving no space between them. He wrapped his arm around her low back, mind racing.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she finally said.

  Bastard worked his jaw back and forth, unable to rationalize anything. Keep it, or don’t? The options seemed so simple. But more than that, he saw a window here. If she wanted to keep it…he could be the father his own never had been.

  “Let’s keep it,” he blurted out, squeezing her knee.

  Her face creased with surprise. She blinked at him a few times, mouth hanging open. “Are you serious?”

  “Well, if you want to, then yeah.” He shifted beside her, the weight of his words ballooning inside him, filling all the available crevices of his body. “I can help. You wouldn’t have to do it alone.”

  Kit was quiet for a while, picking at a cuticle. “So, what? A nightclub singer and a biker raise a baby? Sounds real stable.”
/>   “People have had it worse.” He sniffed. “Like me.”

  She laughed, but it sounded bitter. “Yeah, you’re right. And me. The two of us would be better than the constant merry go round of shitty, abusive boyfriends my mom always kept around.”

  “And we would only be shitty part of the time,” Bastard cracked. She smiled, but it only lasted a few seconds.

  “You want to be with me, just like that?”

  “Wasn’t just like that. Been thinking about you since I left Andi’s house.” The words almost stuck to his throat. This wasn’t shit he liked to admit. Made him feel weak…like his whole world could be uprooted and stolen.

  “Took you long enough to show up,” she said.

  “But I did, didn’t I?”

  Her gaze traveled over his face, like she was searching for a response. “So what now?”

  Bastard only needed one glance to recognize the fire burning in her eyes, the thinly veiled need and lust coursing just under her skin. He could see it because it was there for him too. Even amid the tension and not knowing, he wanted to connect with her in exactly the way that had started it all.

  He pressed his lips to hers softly, almost expecting her to recoil, to push him off, to say I’m not in the mood. But she met his kiss eagerly, a small noise escaping her. She wrapped her fingers around his neck, nails biting into prickling skin. They kissed hard, lips mashing, teeth bumping, until she pulled away, pressing her forehead against his.

  “I hate that I missed you,” she said, chest heaving.

  He tugged at the hem of her sweatshirt, bunching it around her waist. Damn, that was the truth. He didn’t make missing women part of his daily habits. But Kit had done nothing but stick to the inside of his skull. “Me too.”

  She tore her sweatshirt off, revealing those soft, spilling breasts that had held him captive at the bar. He trailed kisses from her neck to her cleavage, kissing the top of each breast. A soft noise escaped her, her head lolling to the side.

  “You missed these too?” She laughed softly after his kisses lingered at her breasts, palms gently cupped.

  “Mmhmm.” He guided her back onto the bed, kissing a trail down to her stomach. He paused, lips hovering over the swell of her low belly, looking up at her. Their kid was in there. Or what would be their kid. He tugged her leggings down, removing one leg then the other. He set the pants aside, absorbing the sight of her. Maybe it was the fact that she was carrying his child…or maybe it was just because he’d missed her. Either way, something was growing between them.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” He’d stalled too long. He shrugged his cut off, tossing it toward the head of the bed. While he tore the rest of his clothes off, she lightly thumbed his arm.

  “Am I showing already?”

  “Not even a little bit. Except for your tits.” He grinned, easing on top of her, the heat of her skin shuddering through him. Enveloped by her scent, the softness of her skin, the way that tiny smile on her face could fascinate him for hours…shit, he’d made a mistake leaving Andi’s that day. And hopefully now he could make it better.

  “Yeah. Dead giveaway.” She wrapped her arms around his neck as he pressed himself against her, his briefs already tented by his cock. She drew a sharp inhale, legs splaying open. Bastard buried his face in her neck, drinking every last drop of her sweet scent. No, he couldn’t let this go again.

  “Tell me something,” she said, her voice wispy and faraway. “What’s your real name?”

  Bastard nibbled on her earlobe as he thought. Only a handful of people in the universe knew his name. “Promise not to tell anyone?”

  “Deal.”

  “Baylor.” He pushed off the bed to step out of his briefs, his cock springing free. He pulled Kit’s black lace panties off slowly while she grinned.

  “Nice. I like it.” The bed creaked as he eased back down on top of her, his cockhead finding the slick folds of her pussy as if no time had passed between them. He didn’t want to waste time, not with Kit. She pushed him straight to the edge too damn fast.

  “Yeah?” He cupped the sides of her rib cage, moving up and over her breasts. “What’s your real name?”

  “Kitka,” she said in a small voice. “Kitka McCain.”

  He cocked a grin, nudging his cock toward her entrance. “Well it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” And then he sunk himself inside, enjoying the wash of expressions over her face as he buried himself inside her, that velvety heat sending a shockwave through him.

  He rocked against her, finding a slow, sweet rhythm, intent on watching her for every change and expression. To see if she wanted it harder, or slower, or softer, or deeper. To make sure this was perfect for her. To make sure that she felt every ounce of his conviction when he’d told her they should keep the baby.

  “Oh, Baylor…” her breathy moan cycled through him, lighting him on fire. He grunted, driving into her deep, pulling back slowly, then returning for another slow, thorough dive. Her head lolled to the side.

  “It feels so fucking good,” she said. He kept their bodies close, chests touching, as much skin vibrating together as possible. Sweat formed in the creases of where they touched, slick and sensual. Kit arched her back, clenching her thighs around him.

  They moved and rocked and bumped against each other, small grunts and long moans punctuating the bedroom, until all that friction came to a head. Bastard pinched his eyes shut as he came, hips jerking as the pleasure burst, cascading through him. Kit quaked beneath him, her pussy clenching around his cock, a strangled moan released.

  They lay together for a long time, Bastard stroking her hair, her chest rising and falling quickly. When he pulled himself out of her, she grinning like she knew a secret.

  “That’s the Bastard I missed,” she whispered, dragging her thumb over his lips. “The secret Baylor who can make me come like nobody else.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Kit woke up bleary and disoriented the next morning. She felt like she had a hangover, but if anything it was a sex hangover. She and Bastard had fucked three times, but fucking didn’t seem like the right word. Each time had been tender and sweet, enough to push her to the brink of tears. Was that making love? Could they make love, if they’d only spent a week together in the entire history of knowing each other?

  It sure felt like it. And maybe this baby was proof. Her hand went to her belly, a small smile gracing her face. She rolled over, looking for Bastard.

  His side of the bed was empty, the sheets rumpled. She frowned, wishing he was there to spoon. Maybe he went to grab breakfast. Like last time. She pushed to sitting, rubbing at her eyes. This time, she’d give him a bit more time. The benefit of the doubt, at least.

  But within minutes of being awake she realized she was hungry, and bad. Her stomach groaned as she fumbled with her phone. It was almost noon. When had Bastard left…and when would he be back?

  She squinted around the room, searching for a sign, or a note, or anything. They still hadn’t exchanged phone numbers, like idiots, but how could they when all they did was fuck? She swung her legs over the side of the bed, frowning as she contemplated her options. Going home immediately seemed ideal. She’d just moved into a new place not too far from Andi’s. It was small but cute, and a work in progress as far as getting her shit together. But at least it had breakfast, which was step one in any event.

  “Well, Bastard…” She tutted, looking around one last time to make sure she didn’t miss anything. “I guess we’re doing it like this again.” She took a quick morning pee and then tugged on her sweat shirt and leggings. There wasn’t even a pen and paper in the room to leave him a note with. She shook her head. Hopefully her ride share would recognize the Damned Devils headquarters to pick her up.

  She opened the bedroom door slowly, peering out into the hallway. Coast was clear. Sauntering through a foreign clubhouse filled with god-knows-how-many scruffy, strange bikers was not her version of starting the day off right. She dart
ed toward the back-door Bastard had brought her through, the light of day settling strangely on the clubhouse without Bastard as her guide. The door creaked open and she slipped outside, feet meeting uneven cement, tufts of grass breaking through.

  Kit kept her head down as she went around the side of the building, her throat tight as she traversed unfamiliar territory. This felt wrong somehow, or tense—like maybe one of his brothers would see her and she’d get in trouble for trespassing. Bikers were weird, and she hadn’t met a single one of them last night.

  She slowed when she heard a cackle. She jerked her head to follow the noise: a group of men were sitting out front of the clubhouse, perched on picnic tables. All eyes were on her.