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

by Nina Park

  “I didn’t fucking do anything wrong,” the guy insisted, his jacket rumpling as Hardy and the other guard carried him off. “I know her! We’re friends!”

  She scoffed, turning back to face the bar. A few moments later, Hardy returned without the jerk. “He’s taken care of.”

  “Thanks, Hardy. I don’t actually know him, either. No way he’s my friend.”

  “Yeah, I figured. These nuts just keep getting nuttier.”

  She laughed, swirling her straw in her sparkling juice. “I’m glad I have you around to take care of it.”

  Hardy squeezed her shoulder before he went back to the front doors where he was normally stationed. She stared at the bubbly drink in front of her, her own words echoing in her head. Yeah, it was good that Hardy was there. But what about outside the confines of this bar?

  You don’t need anyone. You’re fine on your own.

  No matter how many times she repeated it to herself, she couldn’t shake the wrench in her gut. She wanted to believe it. And at one point, she had. But life had a way of beating confidence out of someone. Between having a legitimate stalker in Olympia to the unwanted, unwelcome advances of pretty much any man around her at any time…where was the room to feel safe?

  Kit sat, lost in her own world, until she was one of the last people left in the bar. Gary looked over at her with an eyebrow raised.

  “Everything okay tonight?” Glasses clinked while he pulled them from the sink.

  “Yeah, Gary. Just thinking.” She sighed, smoothing her palms over the bar top.

  “Hopefully that Devils biker isn’t the one on your mind,” he said.

  “Why would you say that?”

  Gary shrugged, rolling up his shirt sleeves before continuing with his dish washing. “He’s been after you a lot here. Just don’t want him harassing you.”

  “Well, he is on my mind,” Kit said, “But he’s not harassing me. Just making me think.”

  “That a good or bad thing?”

  “I dunno yet.” She twirled her glass around between her fingers. “Just confusing.”

  “Those Damned Devils are a decent bunch,” Gary said. Chairs scraped against the wood floor as Hardy moved tables aside for the cleaning crew to come in the morning.

  Kit scoffed. “Are they? I met some of them personally, and I wasn’t impressed.”

  “Yeah, they’re good. Trust me, I’ve gotten to know a few groups in this area.” Gary let a bitter laugh as he wiped down the back of the bar. “They’re solid dudes. Some of them can be…rough, sure. But on the whole, I like ‘em.”

  “Well. I’m glad you have such a positive review.” She downed the rest of her juice concoction. “I’ll be leaving them one star on Yelp, however.”

  Hardy came over the bar, rapping his knuckles against the service. “Okay, boss. I’m done. You guys need anything else?”

  Gary waved him off. “Have a good night.”

  Hardy turned to Kit, his small eyes soft with concern. “You want me to walk you to your car or anything?”

  “Nah, I’m good. You go home. I’m just gonna call a car to come get me.”

  Hardy waved and let himself out of the bar. It was just her and Gary left.

  “I guess I should probably start heading back.” Kit pushed back from the bar. Gary hung the dish towel he’d been using, wiping his palms off on his pants.

  “All right. You sure you’re good? I still gotta head back to the office and do my counts.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I swear.” She offered a small smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  She slung her duffel bag over her shoulder, her footsteps echoing strangely in the empty bar. It always felt like a discarded shell, an outgrown exoskeleton left behind in the gaping wake of the chatter, the music, the enraptured audience. Most nights she didn’t stick around to feel the strange absence of joviality, but tonight it hit her harder than normal, reminding her of the ways in which her insides felt similarly gaping and empty.

  In the wake of Baylor.

  Every time she thought of his real name it brought a smile to her face. Maybe she would name the baby that. But no, that seemed taboo. She hadn’t decided if she wanted the baby to know about Bastard. She might not even have a boy. Hell, she hadn’t even had a prenatal appointment yet.

  One step at a time: that seemed wise. And the first step required getting home and getting rest. She pushed out of the main doors into the small foyer of the bar. She double checked her purse for her phone, fishing it out before she stepped outside. It was already after two a.m. Hopefully she wouldn’t have much trouble getting a rideshare at peak drunk taxi hour.

  She sighed, pushing out into the cool night air. Traffic hummed from the nearby freeway, and the landmark huge palm tree rustled beside the bar in the breeze. She hummed to herself as she swiped through the phone, heading around the side of the building where an alleyway connected to a busy street corner. She normally had the best luck intersecting the ride shares there.

  Her steps scuffed along the cement path, darkness shrouding the alley. She stumbled over a crack in the path, too distracted by her phone screen.

  And then an arm slid around her neck, hooking across her mouth, muffling the scream that escaped.

  “I waited for you,” came the low, raspy voice. “I knew you would have wanted me to.”

  Kit threw her elbow back as hard as she could, connecting with a man’s body. Though she couldn’t twist around to see who had attacked her, she knew who it was. She didn’t need to see.

  Her stalker was back.

  “I just don’t understand why you act like you don’t know me anymore,” Andrew hissed, dragging her toward the wall. “After all I’ve cared about you?”

  She struggled against him, panic flooding her as she failed to gain any ground against his strength. Every time she thought she could slip from his grasp, he doubled down on his hook.

  “Having them throw me out tonight was so embarrassing,” Andrew went on. Kit’s mind reeled, wishing she had placed his face earlier when the warning bells were going off. How could she not recognize him? Even though she saw what felt like a billion faces a week…still, she should have known somehow.

  “I just don’t think you understand how that makes me feel.” Andrew tutted, slamming her up against the wall. She whimpered as he dug his forearm into mouth, holding her in place. Tears pressed against her eyes and all she could think about was the baby. Please don’t hit me. Please don’t do anything to hurt me and my baby.

  “And you say you’re pregnant, now?” His sneering face came into view through the blur of tears. “So that means you’ve been cheating on me.”

  She shook her head, unable to contain the tears. Confronting this level of delusion was terrifying all its own. She didn’t know how to combat this, how to handle anything like this. Her heart hammered between her ears while she prayed for him to loosen his grip enough for her to bolt. To kick him between the legs. To shimmy out of his iron grip and run for her damn life.

  “You really wanna have someone else’s kid?” Andrew sounded genuinely confused. He leaned closer, his sour breath reaching her skin. “I should make sure you don’t have it after all.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Bastard got to Ola around one thirty, almost closing time. Kit would be done singing by now, but after two days on the job and otherwise occupied making money to show up at her doorstep with, he couldn’t force himself to wait. He had to see, maybe she was still here. Maybe he could get his glimpse. Let her know he was still around…waiting.

  The parking lot was half empty when he rolled up, a few guys near the front door smoking cigarettes and having a heated conversation about something. He parked the bike in the far corner, surveying the lot one more time before swinging his leg over. Traffic rushed in the background, but his ears perked listening to the sounds in the lot: the swearing related to whether the Lakers were gonna pull through this season, the scuffing of shoes as people tripped and wandered down
the sidewalk, the honking from a block over. Low mumbles from nearby.

  Bastard stilled as he neared the front door, listening to the undertones of a man’s voice, somewhere beyond the heated Lakers conversation.

  “Fucking bitch,” came through clear, followed by more mumbling.

  Bastard’s boots thudded against the sidewalk as he peered around the side of the bar. A man paced a dimly lit alleyway there, hands fisted his hair.

  “Kit thinks she can just do that to me?”

  Bastard’s stomach took a nose dive. He pressed himself to the bricks of the bar, bringing his ear closer to the corner.

  “It’s fucked up. It’s fucked up. It’s fucked up.”

  Bastard’s hands rolled into fists as he listened to enough of the ranting to get the gist: someone was pissed with Kit, and it didn’t look like he’d be going elsewhere to deal with it. They were waiting for her. Which meant she was still inside.

  Bastard scanned the parking lot, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as he mapped out a loose plan. He wanted to watch the guy. Keep an eye on him, just to see how much of this was talk and how much of this might lead to something dangerous. There was still the possibility that Kit wasn’t inside and he was just a raving weirdo, lurking for no reason.

  But if she is inside…you gotta handle this.

  He hurried back to his bike. Situated in the corner of the parking lot, it gave him a good vantage point of the front door and the alleyway entrance. Partially shrouded in darkness, he could observe without being observed.

  Bastard leaned against the back of his bike, crossing his arms over his chest.

  And then he waited. Eyes like a hawk on that alleyway, watching the disturbed pacing of the guy. And while he waited he took in all the details, trying to put the pieces together to answer the question lurking in the back of his mind: Is this the stalker from Olympia or a new one?

  The guy was too far away and the night was too shrouded for him to make out much. But the guy knew Kit’s name and he wouldn’t leave the bar. Enough reason for Bastard to wait until closing, and then make sure this guy left the premises permanently. Whether of his own persuasion, or Bastard’s.

  As time ticked on, more people left the bar, usually in small clusters. One of the guards pushed out eventually, heading for his car. The bar was probably empty inside, but the guy still hung around. A few minutes later, Kit pushed out into the parking lot, focused on her phone.

  He straightened, his body experiencing a strange wave of emotion as he took her in. Part relief, part warmth, another part knowing that he’d wait as damn long as it took for her to come around. He smiled, but it faded fast as she rounded the corner and headed down the alleyway.

  Bastard pushed off from the bike, taking measured steps toward that alleyway, fists already balled and his entire body tense, drawn like a bungee cord ready to snap back.

  And then came the muffled scream. He got her. Bastard broke into a run, barely conscious of crossing the parking lot he was so focused on that alley. Darkness obscured part of it, but as soon as he crossed the brick threshold of the bar, he spotted that guy with Kit backed up against a wall.

  The sight of her there undid something inside him, made that primordial coil pop loose, unleashing a maelstrom of adrenaline. His entire body went hot and he lunged without even seeing where he was going.

  He grabbed the back of the man’s jacket, pulling him off of Kit with a whoosh of force that reverberated down to his feet. Kit let a piercing scream once he was off her, crumpling to her feet against the wall.

  “Get the fuck off of me!” The guy was smaller than him but wiry, pure muscle underneath his clothes. He slipped from Bastard’s grip, launching himself toward Kit. His knee connected with her side and she cried out, shielding her face with her forearms.

  Panic sliced Bastard in two, torn between wanting to help Kit and beating the life out of the attacker. But every second counted now, especially if he was going to make sure this guy never hurt her again. Bastard grunted, grappling with him to pull him off of her, sending him to the ground in a heap.

  “You stay…the fuck…away….from…her.” His words were punctuated by punches. His fists flew faster than he could even control, panic and anxiety and worry coming out of him in a relentless stream. Bastard punched him until his own fists bled, until the gravel beneath his knees bit into his jeans, reminding him where he was, that this was public, that Kit was just feet away watching him unleash on this guy..

  “Bastard,” Kit whimpered. He looked up, feeling her tugging at him “Bastard, that’s enough.”

  He leaned back onto his heels, pressing his palms into the uneven cement beneath him. He drew long, ragged breaths, the adrenaline receding in slow waves. Before him, the guy lay unconscious, his face bleeding profusely, lips and one eye swollen shut.

  “Are you okay?” He twisted to look up at her. Her sweatshirt hung oddly off her frame, like it had been fisted and tugged at. He reached up, grabbing her at the hips, steadying her there in front of him.

  “I don’t know,” she whimpered, and then a choked sob escaped her. She covered her face with her hands and Bastard popped to his feet, bringing her into his arms. Kit melted into him, her arms encircling his waist, head buried in his chest. She hiccupped as she cried. “He hit me in the stomach, Bastard.”

  Anxiety slithered through him, made him feel heavy and prickly. He kissed the top of Kit’s head. “We’re going to the hospital then.”

  She sniffed, looking up at him, her eyes rimmed red. “Yeah. We should go to the hospital.”

  Bastard loosened his grip on Kit, flexing the knuckles of his right hand. Blood ran, thick and dark, across his hand. He sucked at his teeth, the pain finally finding him now that the adrenaline had run off. He knelt down, rummaging through the pockets of the attacker.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We’re gonna see who this guy really is.” He found a wallet stuffed in the back pocket. When he rolled the guy onto his side, he moaned. Bastard fumbled to find an identification card inside and when he found it, nestled between slips of paper and weird membership cards to a thousand different things, he snapped a picture of it. Andrew Pittman.

  “This shit is ending,” he muttered, stuffing the license back in and tossing the guy’s wallet onto his chest. He wrapped an arm around Kit, guiding her back down the alleyway. “Come on, Peach. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

  ***

  Kit swung her legs off the edge of the examination table, gnawing at the inside of her lip. After waiting almost an hour, they were finally brought back to a room to wait for the emergency room doctor. Bastard sat in a chair along the wall, examining his bloody knuckles.

  “I could probably just tape these up myself no problem, right?” His gaze skated over the wall of sterile pads and other medical accoutrement. “They wouldn’t notice.”

  “They’d probably tack on an extra five hundred dollars to the bill,” she said, sticking her foot out to grab his attention. He sent a sly smile her way, one that made her belly flip. The man was dangerously handsome—even more so after beating the shit out of the one person who had managed to instill fear in her life.

  “That’s okay. I can afford it.” He winked, a dimple in his left cheek flashing. Her mind went straight to the baby: oh my God, what if our kid has that same dimple? I won’t be able to stand it. Will the baby even make it?

  Doubts flooded her again, sparking anxiety like flame to a match. She dropped her gaze. Bastard leaned forward, squeezing her knee.

  “What’re you thinking about?”

  She shrugged, sniffing. Her face still felt raw from all the screaming, then the crying, then the fast motorcycle ride to the ER. What a night this had been. Exhaustion clawed at her. It had to be after three by now, but she didn’t want to check the time again. Each time she looked it doubled her anxiety, reminded her that this tiny life inside her hung in the balance.

  “Everything’s gonna be fine,” Bastard
said, probably the fifth time he’d said it since they got to the ER. “And even if it isn’t fine, I’ll make it fine.”

  She cracked a small grin. “And how are you gonna do that?”

  “Any fucking way I can.” He scrubbed at the top of his head, his mossy green eyes shining with something she didn’t quite know how to define. “Kit, I don’t know if you caught on by now, but I’m yours.”

  She rolled her lips inward, registering the warmth that spread through her, tucking it away like a secret to be viewed at another time. “But for how long?”

  His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he brought it forward, inserting himself in the line of her vision. “Until you shake me off like a dog. And I bite hard, Peach.”