HIS VIRGIN VESSEL: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (War Cry MC)

by Nicole Fox

  I nodded slowly.

  "I'm willing to drop it."

  My eyes widened as he spoke.

  "And I'll turn a blind eye to the hooch and to the protection racket, provided the only people you're menacing are other criminals."

  "If?" I asked.

  "You stay away from Corinne," said Dugas, and I could hear the earnestness in his voice. "More than that—drive her away. Let her know that she means less than nothing to you. That she was just a ..." he swallowed as he used awkward words to describe his daughter, "just a fuck. Break her heart quick to save her having it broken slow, and ruining her life in the bargain."

  Of course, unbeknownst to Brian Dugas, he and I were on the same side in this. What he was telling me to do, I had already done and would have continued to do. I didn't want ruin her life either, and that girl was definitely in way over her head with me. He was offering me a deal in which I gave up absolutely nothing. I felt a bit smug and managed not to grin as I nodded.

  "We'll shake on it," said Dugas. "Like men."

  We did so.

  Dugas unlocked my cell. "You're free to go."

  It was obviously killing him, and I couldn't help admiring the man. He had been after me for years, and now he was giving me up for the sake of his daughter. Everyone knew that Brian Dugas was incorruptible, and here he was, making a deal with a criminal to look the other way, all to keep Corinne safe. The girl didn't know how lucky she was. If I'd had a dad like that then ... well, maybe things would have been different.

  I walked for the door.

  "Covert."

  I turned back.

  "If you touch her again," said Dugas, his face grave. "It won't be the law that comes for you. It'll be me. You understand?"

  I nodded.

  # # #

  "You what?!" I nearly exploded, thumping the table with my fist.

  Joseph looked taken aback, frozen, with my Black Book still in his hand. "I stole your book back, Asa. I thought you'd be pleased."

  Joseph was a relatively new War Cry recruit, but he had risen swiftly. I guess that was largely down to me. I liked the kid, and I trusted him. He was a hothead, an idiot, really. He took too many chances, drove too fast, gambled too much, slept with anything in a skirt, and wanted to do all of that yesterday. In other words, he was just like me at his age. I wanted him to survive to my age, to appreciate what a dumb way to live it was.

  I took the book and tucked it away in my jacket. "I am, Joseph, I am. Thanks. You risked a lot for me, and I appreciate it."

  Joseph grinned. "Well, it got you out, didn't it? That makes it worthwhile to me."

  I nodded my thanks. But inside I was seething. I thought I'd put one over on Brian Dugas, but it turned out that he'd put one over on me. He couldn't have held me since he had no evidence, but he pretended he had for long enough to extract a promise out of me not to go near Corinne. Of course, I'd had no intention of going near Corinne anyway, so, in a way, I was the winner. But it still grated.

  And of course, there was a very easy way of getting my own back on that devious bastard.

  But, no. I didn't care about breaking my word—Dugas had already made that promise null and void through his dishonesty anyway. But my resolve towards Corinne remained the same. I didn't want to hurt her. I didn't want her to end up in a life like mine, with a guy like me.

  "How'd you get hold of this book anyway?" I asked. "The Dugas house is pretty tightly locked up."

  Joseph shrugged. "Got a bit of help."

  I stirred in my seat. She couldn't have. Could she?

  "That little redhead you screwed the night of the fight."

  "I never screwed her that night," I said defensively.

  "Fiona says you did."

  "She's getting mixed up. It was the night after."

  "It was both!" Fiona called in from the back room.

  "Doesn't matter." I drew a line under the matter. "Corinne helped you get the book?"

  "Wouldn't have got it without her."

  Joseph kept talking, but my mind was elsewhere as a mixture of uncalled for emotions poured into me. I divided women into three groups: want to do them, don't want to do them, done them. And once they were in the third category—xcept in rare cases like Fiona—they ceased to be of interest. But Corinne was firmly in the 'done' group, and yet, I was still thinking about her, and not just about having another go with her. The fact was that this new development indicated that her dad was right. She had a thing for me, and she was willing to break the law to help me. On the one hand, that strongly suggested that I should be doing exactly what Dugas had told me, and what I had planned to do. On the other, the knowledge that she had come through for me like that made me want her even more.

  And I owed Brian Dugas payback for his little trick.

  "I should really thank her."

  Fiona shot a suspicious look at me as she entered carrying a crate of hooch. "When you say thank her ..."

  "Just say thank you."

  Joseph hopped up to help Fiona with the crate. "Where do you want it?"

  Fiona grinned. "When have I heard that question before? Stick it in the back."

  "When have I heard that answer before?"

  I stared in some little surprise during this exchange. Fiona and Joseph? The kid really was like me.

  "He's twenty years younger than you," I hissed as Joseph carried the crate out.

  "Twenty-two," corrected Fiona. "He reminds me of you, actually."

  "So, you're trading me in for a younger model?"

  Fiona shook her head. "You know me, Asa. I'm not looking for anything long-term or serious. You, on the other hand ..."

  "What?"

  "Just tread carefully."

  "She's just some girl."

  Fiona shook her head. "I'm starting to doubt that."

  Joseph came back in, and I handed him a piece of paper.

  "Take this to Corinne."

  I wasn't sure if Fiona was right or wrong, or if what I was doing was smart or dumb, but I was doing it one way or the other. It occurred to me that maybe there was a way to stay true to the spirit of my agreement with Dugas, while obviously breaking the specific content. Maybe.

  # # #

  About half a mile out from the Dugas house was a dry river gully, nothing spectacular, but deep enough to hide a bike. Corinne was there when I arrived, wearing jeans that might have been painted on and a top that plunged between her breasts (which were looking a whole lot bigger today, thanks to some help from enhancing underwear).

  "I wasn't sure you'd come," she said, as I pulled up.

  "I sent the note."

  "I half thought it was my dad setting a trap for me. Why did you ask me? No offense, but last time we spoke, you didn't seem that eager to see me again."

  "I didn’t likebeing lied to and used as way to annoy your dad and dispose of a virginity that you no longer wanted. I wasn't eager for a relationship. And I'm still not. But you helped me get out of jail, and I'm grateful, and I wanted to say thank you in person." I wasn't sure how much of that was true.

  She walked over and leaned in to kiss me, but I kept her at arm's length. "You want to go for a ride?"

  "More than anything in the world."

  "On the bike," I clarified.

  Corinne shrugged. "That'd be fun too."

  "Climb on."

  Corinne swung up behind me and, to my annoyance, my heart quickened at the feel of her arms winding about me, and her body pressed against my back. Just the smell of her had my libido turning somersaults. I hadn’t reacted like that to a girl since I was going through puberty!

  "Hold on tight."

  "You know I do."

  And we were off, whizzing through the night, dodging shrubs, bouncing over rocks, Corinne clinging tightly to me. I took her on the wildest ride I knew and was rewarded with the sound her breath, short and fast in my ear. The girl had a taste for extremes.

  After a half hour or so of riding, I pulled up.

  "W
here are we?" Corinne asked.

  "Listen."

  Corinne stood still a moment. "Is that water?"

  "This way." I took a bag out from under the seat of the bike and led the way through the scrubby vegetation and up onto a ledge overlooking a waterfall.

  Corinne beamed. "I haven't been up here since I was a kid."

  "It's my favorite place in the world." Why would I tell her something like that? I'd never told anyone that.

  "I can see why."

  I opened the bag. "I brought a picnic."

  Corinne gaped in astonishment. "Asa Covert, the bad-ass president of biker gang War Cry, has made a picnic?"

  "Fiona helped," I admitted.

  We sat down to eat and drink under the stars.

  "I knew there was another side to you," Corinne said, smiling sweetly at me.

  I began to wonder if this had been a bad idea. But I had already tried it Dugas's way; I had told her she meant nothing to me, and her response had been to put everything on the line to get me out of jail. She liked bad boys, so the worse I treated her, the more attractive I became (I had no idea why some women thought that way, but I did sometimes take advantage.). So, the logical thing was to treat her well and to leave the bad boy behind for a night. It had seemed like a good idea, but so far it did not seem to be paying off.

  "Why did you help me?" I asked.

  "You know why." She ran a hand up my thigh, and I brushed it off.

  "Because you're a silly girl who doesn't know what's good for her from what's bad for her?"

  "Trust me," said Corinne, emphatically. "I know what's good for me. And the other night was extremely good."

  "Why do you do that?" I asked.

  "Do what?"

  "The sexy bad girl act. Why do you do it? Do you think men like that? Do you think there are girls who actually talk like that? It makes you sound like a bad porn film." I shook my head. "You already told me you were a virgin until the other night. Just because you've lost your virginity doesn't mean you start talking like Mae West."

  Corinne blushed in embarrassment. It was perhaps the single most honest thing I'd seen her do. Unfortunately, it was also very attractive and I found myself fighting my desire for her.

  "I thought ... I wanted you to think I was, I don’t know, more like other girls you've been with."

  "You want to be like all the girls I've screwed and forgotten?"

  "Well ... maybe not quite like ..."

  "How about you try being yourself?" I suggested.

  There was a long pause as Corinne collected her thoughts. "I'm not sure I even know who that is."

  "Do you want to know what I think?" I grabbed my moment.

  "I do," said Corinne, shuffling towards me on her knees. "I really do."

  "I think the prissy little perfect girl who your dad would want you to be, the girl who never does anything wrong and sits at home nights with a book, I think that's who you are. And you're so scared of being her that you've spent your whole damn life trying to be something else."

  Chapter Nine

  Corinne

  His words fell like hot lead into my ears. How dare he! How dare this man who had met me only a few nights ago presume to know anything about me?!

  I mastered my feeling and spoke calmly. "Well, thank you for that opinion, and may I say how completely full of horseshit you are."

  Asa shrugged carelessly. "You asked."

  "Two nights ago you made me a woman," I said hotly. "Now you want to turn me back into a little girl?"

  Asa shook his head. "There's more to being a woman than what we did. Sad to say, there are little girls all over the world who've been subjected to that. And there are women having it daily who'll never grow up. People put too much stress on sex. It's a pretty meaningless thing."

  "Not to me, it wasn't." Against my will, hot tears were rising in my eyes. It had to have meant something to him!

  "Well, you started with the wrong person," admitted Asa. "There are plenty of nice, decent men out there who read all the meaning and emotion into sex that you do. Marrying types. I've been with too many women for it to mean something. If it meant something, then that would make me a horrible person."

  "With the right person, it means something!" I insisted.

  "And I hope you find him."

  "You're telling me you felt nothing when we made love?"

  Asa pulled a face. "We didn't make love. In all of history, those words have never been applied to sex in a storage closet."

  He hadn't answered the question. Right or wrong, I grasped hold of that and believed in it—he hadn't answered because he wouldn't lie. It had meant something to him.

  "Why did you ask me here?"

  "To say thank you."

  "You brought me to a waterfall and made me a picnic," I pointed out. "Joseph Hartman helped you more than me; does he get a picnic?"

  The flicker of indecision that crossed Asa's face gave me more hope.

  "Look," I continued, "I don't know why you insist on denying what happened between us, but if you must, then go ahead. We both know that you'll keep finding stupid excuses to meet me, and sooner or later that's going to lead somewhere."

  Asa tried to scoff but I could tell I'd touched a nerve.

  "How about we put the question of who I really am to one side?" I went on. "And turn it back on you."

  "What?"

  "You think that, deep down, I'm a little goody two-shoes daddy's girl? Well, wouldn't that type of girl's dream date be a picnic by a waterfall?"

  Asa looked trapped and I decided to let him off the hook.

  "Stop trying to analyze me. You don't know what it was like growing up as the disappointment."

  Asa shrugged. "Maybe I don't know you that well, but I doubt your dad thinks that."

  "He wanted me to be a lawyer. Can you picture that?"

  "What did you want to do?"

  "Be an artist."

  Asa nodded. "I bet Brian didn't like that. I bet he laid down the law and forbade you from taking classes, or studying art. I bet he wouldn't even let you have paints in the house."

  If this conversation was becoming a little battle, scoring points off each other, then that was a point to Asa. Of course my dad hadn't done any of those things. He had paid for art supplies and classes, and he had dutifully 'appreciated' every painting I brought home as I strove to get better. He'd done everything a good parent was supposed to do, except wanting me to pursue it. I guess he worried.

  "I know he loves me," I said, awkwardly. "But he loves me so much that he wants what's best for me all the time. And to him, 'best' means what he wants, what he thinks will make me safe and give me a good solid career. It's love that feels like a constant pressure pushing down on me. Do you have any idea what that's like?"

  Asa shook his head. "No. I really don't. Sounds awful."

  Something about the tone of his voice told me that in a 'who had the worst childhood competition,' I would lose.

  "I love art." It was strange how easy it was talking to him. "But it was also my little act of rebellion. My chance to be something other than what Dad wanted. To be imperfect. So I ran off to the city to find my path. That's where it all went to hell. Repeatedly."

  Asa absorbed this. "Let me take a guess: you met a lot of artistic rebels there, and you wanted to fit in with them. But you didn't. Because they really wanted to rebel (because that's something those pretentious assholes think matters), while you just wanted to be accepted as less than perfect."

  That was irritatingly near to the truth. If I'd thrown myself into the scene—the wild parties, the all night drinking, the mind-expanding drugs and uninhibited sex— then I would have had people around me to help when things went wrong. But I didn't want that stuff, and so when I had nowhere to live, I had no friends to turn to.

  "I'm very bad at being a rebel," I admitted.

  "Then be yourself," Asa reiterated.

  "I told you ..."

  "You don't know who you are,"
nodded Asa. "Okay, try this: Think of one thing that has made you feel like yourself. One thing you've done that is totally Corinne. Build from that. One thing. Name it."