Biker's Baby: Devil's Wings MC

by Nicole Fox

  “It’s true,” Wilde confirmed. “I was there. Congratulations, Kelsey. We got him.”

  Kelsey wanted to say something; she wanted to say a lot of things, but all her words ended up smothered by a torrent of tears. Somehow, she choked out a thank you that wasn’t nearly as heartfelt as Wilde deserved. The detective promised to let her know about trial dates, and he promised to send her a picture of the killer, at her request.

  The man’s name was one she recognized from the media coverage of Spike Lawler’s killings: Henry Rawl, the last Mongol standing. He had fled the city, or so he claimed, to avoid the fallout that he was sure would come after word of the killing got out. And when his old leader Spike Lawler turned up captured, it changed something in Rawl’s hard heart. He began to grow a conscience.

  Kelsey was positive some of that was just Rawl attempting to capitalize on the pitying impulses of the public, thinking that if he came back and showed remorse for his crimes in the shadow of Spike’s atrocities, he might be let off easy. At the beginning of her journey, that might have bothered her a lot. But now, basking in the glory that came with finally knowing as much of the whole story as she possibly could, Rawl’s confession was enough. She felt some restless shadow within her settle down to sleep at last. A great weight lifted itself from her heart. She had done right by her little sister at last. She had done everything she could, and she had received her answers. When the call was over, she turned toward Chopper and buried her face in his chest for a minute, breathing in the comfort of his presence. He rubbed the back of her neck until she lifted her head and looked up at him.

  “Now what?” she asked, a little smile tilting the corner of her mouth.

  He kissed her forehead. “What do you mean?”

  “Well…” Kelsey shrugged. “Spike’s in jail. I know who killed my sister. Who are we now? What do we do?” She meant it half as a joke, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized how much her relentless pursuit of the truth had defined her. With that chapter finally written and tucked away, she had no idea where to go next. As painful as Hannah’s death had been, it provided her life with a structure that was suddenly missing.

  “Here’s an idea,” Chopper whispered, his lips against Kelsey’s neck. She shivered, resting her hands on his strong forearms. He slid his fingers teasingly under the hem of her shirt. “Why don’t we celebrate?” Before she could say anything, their lips met, and Kelsey decided it would be okay to stop thinking for a while.

  # # #

  The buzz of the tattoo gun was like a fly droning around Kelsey’s torso — a fly that stung like crazy. She lay on her back in the parlor chair, trying to keep her mind off the pain. “Hey,” she said, running her finger along the outside of Chopper’s wrist. “Tell me something.”

  “Tell you what?” he asked, looking at her with mild bemusement.

  “Anything. Just say words so I don’t have to think about how many needles are poking me right now.”

  He chuckled, lifting her hand to his lips. “How about this? The Outlaws are expanding.”

  “Really? How much?” Since Spike’s incarceration, Kelsey had allowed herself to drift back toward club business just a little bit, but not enough to get back in over her head again. She had briefly considered asking Chopper to step down so that they might be able to live a slightly more normal life, but she quickly ditched that idea. Chopper provided for both of them, and he did it well. Who was she to tell him how to spend his time? Still, she wondered what an expansion could mean. More drug routes meant an increase in revenue, but if she’d learned anything from this experience, it was that a drug-fueled peace never lasted too long.

  “I want to buy up some of those houses in that area where Spike was hiding,” Chopper said. “You know, fix ‘em up, turn ‘em into places where people could actually live.” He paused. “I think it could be good for single moms, or kids who don’t have anywhere to go.”

  Kelsey’s heart swelled. She had always known Chopper could be sweet, but their hard times together seemed to have transformed a part of his spirit. The bitterness over his own rough start was gone, replaced by a desire to help others like him overcome their own. No words existed to express the depth of her pride in him. Even if he didn’t see it himself, he’d come so far. They both had. And there was so much farther to go. She took his hand and held his palm against her cheek, suppressing a wince as the tattoo needle dug into the skin below her breast.

  “I love you, Jesse,” she said softly.

  He smiled, a genuine, gentle smile. “I love you too, gorgeous.”

  The buzzing stopped. “You know what I love?” the tat guy said, carefully wiping over his finished artwork. “I love this piece. Check it out.” He held up a mirror so that Kelsey could see. Her eyes widened as she gazed at it, the pain immediately forgotten. She’d wanted her first tattoo to be simple—a small, fiery flower standing vigil over the name she had chosen for her fallen baby boy, inked directly underneath her heart.

  “What do you think?” she asked Chopper, turning her eyes to his face.

  He didn’t say anything, but she saw the gleam of tears in his eyes, and she sat up gingerly, wrapping her arms around his neck. Graciously, the artist turned away to afford them some privacy. “It’s perfect,” he whispered finally. “Like you.”

  Kelsey smiled. She nuzzled his neck. “And there’s plenty of room there for the others … when they come.” She knew that there would be a time when the hole in her heart could be filled, when she could carry and deliver a little soul into the world. Maybe she wasn’t ready just yet, but someday, she would be. And when she was, there was no question in her mind that Jesse would be standing by her side.

  She pulled back and looked at him, soaking in the magic of his sea-blue eyes, the warmth of his touch. She’d come to him from such a dark place, and he had helped her create the vision of a beautiful future.

  “Thank you,” she said, running her thumb over his bottom lip. “You saved me.”

  He laughed, his eyes tender. “Kels, the only reason I could save you is because you saved me first.”

  “That’s not true,” she protested, her features lit by a smile. “As if Chopper Slater needed saving.”

  “Just because I wasn’t lost yet doesn’t mean I wasn’t getting there.” He pressed his lips against her temple. “I needed someone to come in and challenge all my idiot ideals. Show me there was somethin’ beyond bikes and money and hating Spike. Call me by my real name.” He ran his hand through his hair. “That was you, and that’s why we’re here right now.” He reached across her and picked up the mirror, and together they looked at the name inscribed on her body. “That’s why we have this.” She had never spoken it out loud, but she didn’t need to. It was a secret, hers to keep until she chose to release it.

  The name of their unspoken love, carried in Kelsey’s body and heart for as long as she could bear it, and even after that.

  The beginning of their legacy.

  Aiden. Their little fire.

  THE END

  [Bonus Book #2] CAGED: A Dark Bad Boy Romance

  By Ella Wolfe

  I’VE GOT HER CAGED AND DESPERATE FOR A TASTE OF THE BAD BOY.

  The boss only wants Joey Banks straightened out, but I’ve got a different plan in mind.

  I’m going to kill the man and take the smuggling route for my own.

  No one else needs to get hurt. The plan is as simple as it gets.

  Until I meet Joey’s daughter.

  She might look like an angel…

  but she f*cks like the devil.

  And then I find out she’s letting me reel her back in so she can get her own revenge on her father.

  Fair enough; I can respect a little deception. I’m no stranger to it myself.

  We might even have made a good team – if she hadn’t turned on me.

  Now I’ve got no choice but to call in a siege.

  I’m going to have to fight my way out, but I’m not leaving empty-
handed.

  I’m taking that fiery b*tch with me no matter what.

  Chapter One

  Lydia

  Buck's Diner on Highway 65 was the type of shit-hole stop-over you could get a cup of coffee for 99¢, a bowl of chili for a couple bucks, and the toughest cut of meat you've ever had for just under ten. The gas station next door kept a steady stream of truckers and travelers, all going to some destination other than the nearest town, and most of them just looked like they were passing.

  It was the perfect place for a woman like me. Drifting, trying to fly below the radar, just wanting to make it from day to day, and stay one step ahead of my past. Because that's all you had out here, really, on this lonely stretch of road. Your day-to-day, and your past. Futures were for rich folks and people who didn't have anything they were running from.

  Today was slow. Achingly slow. Even the lunch rush had been as sparse as the desert land I was looking out over from where I sat on an overturned milk crate next to the fire exit door, trashy paperback folded up in my hands, the smell of old, stale cigarette butts filling the air.

  My book was one of those old bodice rippers, the type my mom would get into back when she was alive. The clerks at the truck stop next door kept them rotated and well-stocked for the truckers that came in. The older drivers were insatiable in the way some of them read these. I guess I could be, too, on slow days like these.

  Out of all the types I read this was one of my favorites. The bad boy, a good-for-nothing rugged type with the secret heart of gold. Didn't matter if he was the noble savage type, or the Scotsman, or just a trashy biker. I loved them all. Because, when you're stuck out in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of drunk rednecks and truckers as far as the eye could see, what else were you going to do?

  “Amy!” Buck called to the back of the house, his voice rebounding through the clatter of dishes and kitchen work before it reached me. “You got a table, one top! Number five!”

  Number five, the corner booth.

  Buck didn't use my real name because, quite frankly, I'd never given it to him. He paid my tips under the table, kept my names off the forms, the works. I wasn't altogether sure if he knew I was working under an assumed name, but he knew something was up, I was sure of it. Why else would a pretty girl who could read be working in a place like this, especially when she wasn't knocked up with her third baby from her high school prom date? I had the feeling Buck had seen his fair share of desperate cases like me, though.

  I leaned my head back into the fire exit door as I closed my bent-up romance novel and stuffed it in my apron. “On it, Buck!” I shouted back, then heaved myself up from the plastic crate to head back inside.

  I'd had dozens of gigs like this one, all over the west and south, all in the kinds of places you don't see a new face very often. At least not one that sticks around. Places like these, you start to realize, are the kinds of places that people go when they want to disappear. If you weren't born around here, then you were probably trying to stay away from something else. Sometimes the law, sometimes bad decisions, sometimes just their past in general.

  Me? I'm Lydia Banks, and I was running from my pops, Joey Banks, one of the biggest movers and shakers in in the Tri-State area. Richer than sin, and twice as deadly to your health. I learned that the hard way when I watched him beat my mother to death in a paranoid rage because he thought she was working with outside forces to bring him down. I high-tailed it out of there and kept to the shadier side of life ever since that night. No social media, no emails. Hell, not even a phone.

  It's amazing how easily you can hide in a country this big. Just don't tell anyone your real name, and you're set.

  I grabbed a towel as I walked through the kitchen, slapping it down over my shoulder. Here, at least, I didn't have to pretend I was some kind of trashy waitress that was one step away from stripping, like I had at the last joint. They made me crawl into the booth with customers and flirt with them no matter how gross the guys were, my skirt was short enough I might as well have not even been wearing one, and the managers always had a nasty tendency to get a little too handsy.

  Buck kept out of my way as long as I did a good job, and he let me wear whatever I wanted. Normally that just amounted to a decent top and some jeans I didn't mind smelling like a greasy spoon at the end of the day. Throw an apron over it all, put my hair back in a ponytail, and you've got a work uniform. Or at least enough of one to keep him happy.

  I pushed through the kitchen's swinging doors and headed out onto the floor. Without even glancing to my table, I grabbed a menu off the counter and swung back around to head to my customers. What I saw sitting at the table almost made me stumble.

  He was tall, with short and shaggy dark hair with auburn notes that shone in the brilliant sun streaming in through the windows. His shoulders were broad, and he had an easy way about him that told you he could handle himself in a fight. I briefly wondered if he could handle himself, or me, in something other than a fight. Something about the way he sat there, relaxed, but still aware of his surroundings as he waited for me to bring him the menu.

  And he was looking right back at me.

  His eyes flickered up and down my body, returning the favor I'd given him. His full lips curled up a little at the edge, like he knew exactly what I was thinking.

  “Start you off with anything, handsome?” I asked as I handed him the menu.

  “Water, and a coffee.”

  “Room for cream?”

  He shook his head, waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, I'm fine. No cream. Sugar I like it sweet.”

  “Makes two of us,” I replied, my lips curling into a little smile of invitation. “Be right back with your water, handsome.” I turned and headed back to the counter, my mind already imaging all the things he could do to me. I could practically feel his eyes on my ass as I sashayed away, my hips moving seductively as I crossed the floor.

  I poured his glass of ice water and cup of coffee, visions of us already dancing in my head. A man like that didn't show up every day, let alone at a greasy spoon diner in the middle of nowhere. He might never come back. I glanced up as I grabbed the sugar shaker from beside the tray of coffee cups ad caught him watching me.

  He didn't glance away. His eyes just followed me as I brought his drinks to the booth and set them down on the table in front of him, leaning forward as far as I could, my face just inches from his. “You're not from around here, are you?” I asked as I pulled back a little, my lips still close.

  He smirked, his dark brown eyes smiling along with the rest of him. He glanced down at my full, unmarked lips, then back up my eyes. “Aren't I supposed to have some big, burly trucker ask me that out here, and not some young and pretty waitress?”

  “Well, if you need to mark it off your bucket list,” I nearly purred, “I could go next door and grab a couple to come ask for me, instead.”

  He chuckled, still not taking his eyes from mine. “You're right. I'm just passing through on my way to LA. Something tells me you're not from around here either . . .” He paused and looked down at my name tag, his eyes lingering as they passed over the swell of my breasts. “ . . . Amy.”

  “Not exactly,” I admitted with a little smile. “Been around long enough that all the regulars know me, though.”

  “Well, of course. Who wouldn't want to get to know a pretty face like yours?”

  I blushed and glanced away, licking my top lip and biting my lower. I looked back to him as I straightened up a little. “Decide on what you want to eat, yet, mister?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his eyes still locked on to mine as his finger blindly pointed to the wrong item on the menu. “The steak.”

  “Uh-uh,” I replied as I shook my head, my pony tail waving back and forth like a flag. “You don't want the steak, handsome. It's awful. Go with the meatloaf or burger. Mario does a good one, and you definitely won't be disappointed.”

  He eyed me curiously, seeming to decide whether my advice was good or not
. I guess I measured up, because he finally nodded. “Cheeseburger with fries, then. No onions.”

  I smiled as I pulled out my order pad and scrawled down his selection. “Anything else?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. I figured he’d catch the implication.

  The handsome stranger looked like he was about to take me up on my offer, but stopped himself and shook his head. “Gotta be somewhere, so I should probably just get the burger,” he admitted.

  I smiled and shrugged. “Your choice, handsome, kitchen's still open.” I turned around and went back, shouting his order to Mario as I came around the counter.

  “Coming up!” Mario shouted back through the kitchen window as he started to get to work on the order.

  There was just something about this guy, about how his eyes seemed to bore into mine with that dark, penetrating gaze of his. There was a measure of cockiness there too, that was almost charming. For a moment, I'd almost thought he was going to take me up on my implied offer.