Dirty Aces MC: Box Set #1

by Hart, Lane

  Is she okay?

  Is the baby okay?

  “Dude,” a guy says when he walks up behind where I’m standing with my arms crossed over my chest, still staring out the same window again a few days later. “I let the first hour slide, but now this stalking thing you’re doing has gone on long enough. Am I really gonna have to call the cops to make you leave?”

  I glare over my shoulder to see who the hell is speaking to me. It’s the skinny kid who runs the gas station register, and my enraged face dares him to call the police. “What the fuck do you care if I stand here? I’m not in anyone’s way, and I buy gas and a carton of smokes every day when I come in,” I point out defensively.

  “Who are you looking at?” he asks, strolling up right beside me so that our shoulders are almost touching, not the least bit intimidated by me. Guess he’s grown a pair of balls after probably getting robbed at least a few times a year in this joint.

  “None of your fucking business,” I snap at him.

  “The blonde?” he asks. “Her face is hot if you can get past the gut…”

  “She’s pregnant, dipshit!”

  “Oh,” he says. Putting his face closer to the glass and squinting, he says, “Yeah, I can see that now. My bad. Is it yours?”

  I don’t respond.

  “Why are we watching your baby mama from here instead of just going into the restaurant?” he asks. “It’s a public place too.”

  “We aren’t doing shit,” I remark. “And I don’t want to see her.”

  “Three days man. Today is the third day in a row you’ve come to see her, so I think what you mean is that you don’t want to talk to her.”

  “Nothing to say.”

  “You could start with, ‘Hi, honey. Big baby stomach you’ve got there. I miss you. Do you miss me?’”

  “Fuck off,” I tell him, even though it’s a little eerie how he nailed my nickname for her down like that.

  “I would fuck off, man, really I would. But you see, this is actually my store. That’s why I came up to you just now, to tell you to fuck off or I’m gonna call the cops and report you as a creeper.”

  “You really own this store?” I ask in surprise since he’s younger than me.

  “Yeah. My father gave it to me a year back when he retired. Wants to keep it in the family, you know?”

  “No, I don’t know.”

  “About the father part or family business part?”

  “Neither.”

  “Wow, that’s surprising,” the kid says with a low whistle.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I grumble.

  “Of all people, I would think you growing up without a dad, knowing firsthand about what the emptiness of not having a parent in your life feels like, would make you determined to be a part of your son or daughter’s life.”

  “Fuck off,” I tell him again because I don’t need his judgment.

  “Whatever,” he says, walking over behind us to grab a pack of M&Ms from the closest shelf and come back. He rips it open and dumps a handful in his palm, then tosses them into his mouth. “Getting pissed at me doesn’t solve any of your problems, dude. You’ve got bigger fish to fry. Like the fact that sometimes your baby mama only buys three dollars’ worth of gas and pays for it in change.”

  “What the fuck?” I exclaim, not liking that he knows so much about her or that she’s living on change.

  “She’s flat broke. Pretty sure she stuffs toilet paper from the bathroom under her shirt sometimes too. That’s why I didn’t know for sure she was pregnant.”

  “You’re screwing with me, aren’t you?”

  “Nope. Can’t make this shit up,” he says. “It’s depressing. I’d help Naomi out if I could; but if I gave a handout to every pretty face that comes through here, I would go out of business fast.”

  “Wait. How the hell do you know her name?” I ask him.

  He makes me wait until he tosses more candy into his mouth and chews them up before answering. “Calm down, dude. She wears a nametag.”

  “Oh. Right.” I clear my throat as I consider my next question for him. “Does she…have you ever seen her with any men?”

  He cocks his head to the side, carefully considering that inquiry before finally giving me a response. “Nope. I don’t think so. Some guys think the belly is hot, but most aren’t about trying to get in the middle of all that parental responsibility, no matter how hot she is. Not to mention she always looks pretty miserable, like there’s not enough caffeine in the world to perk her up.”

  “Sounds like you’ve thought about her quite a lot,” I point out in a grumble.

  “Eh, I have a lot of free time on my hands.”

  “Obviously.”

  “So, what’s the plan, man? You gonna keep standing here every day watching her or what?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

  “I’ll give you the first…fifteen minutes free, but after that I’m gonna have to start charging you a stalker fee each day.”

  “A stalker fee?” I repeat in disbelief.

  “Think of it like rent. If you’re going to keep coming in here all grumpy, taking up space in my store, then I’m gonna need you to offset the loss of customers who see your sourpuss in the window and drive away to the gas station up the road. You know, the one that doesn’t have grumpy men lurking around all the time.”

  “Fine. How much?” I ask.

  “Twenty bucks an hour.”

  “That’s robbery,” I tell him. “Ten bucks an hour, and I’ll spend at least twenty bucks while I’m here.”

  “Deal. But you owe me back sourpuss rent for yesterday and the day before. As well as today.”

  “Will you keep tabs on her for me when I’m not here?” I ask as I pull out my wallet and start counting out bills.

  “It’ll cost you extra.”

  “Whatever,” I huff, knowing what I’m doing is downright insane but unsure how the hell to make myself stop.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Naomi

  * * *

  “Lovely night tonight, isn’t it?” Greg, the gas station attendant, asks when I bring a gallon of milk and a Hershey bar up to the counter.

  “Ah, yeah. Sure,” I reply, glad someone is in a good mood.

  “Anything else for you?”

  “I, ah, I need five dollars in gas on pump number three.”

  “Why not fill her up tonight? It’s on the house,” he says with a grin.

  “What?” I ask in confusion, tired after working twelve hours, my feet so swollen I can only shuffle them, not pick them up even an inch.

  “You’re a valued customer; and to show how much I appreciate your business, tonight’s full tank of gas is on me.”

  “Seriously? That’s like…twenty-five dollars’ worth.”

  “It’s fine. Really.”

  I stare at the kid and wait for him to tell me the catch.

  Oh no.

  Does he think I’m gonna screw him for a full tank of gas? Sure, I’ve had tough times, but I can’t imagine ever being that desperate. Not to mention that I promised myself I will never exchange sex for anything, especially money, after how badly everything went to hell with Malcolm.

  Lowering my voice, I tell him, “I’m-I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna sleep with you for gasoline.”

  “God no!” he exclaims. “I’m not trying to get myself murdered.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing,” he says in a rush. “The gas doesn’t come with any strings attached. Promise.”

  “You’re sure?” I ask.

  “Yep.”

  “Well, um, that’s okay then I guess,” I reply.

  Chuckling as he rings up my items, he says, “You’re a funny girl, Naomi.”

  For a moment, I freeze when he says my name so familiarly. Then I remember I’m still in my uniform with my nametag, just like his.

  “I appreciate your kindness, Greg.” I slide a five-dollar bill across the counter for my milk a
nd candy bar before snatching the goods up, ready to get the hell out of here and get home to my bed. “Keep the change and, ah, have a good night.”

  “You too!” he calls out as I hurry out of the store.

  There’s something about my interaction with the gas station guy that I can’t shake the rest of the night. In fact, I’m still replaying our conversation the next morning.

  “Hey, Nancy,” I say to my boss when my shift starts, and the breakfast crowd has thinned out. “Do you ever get gas from the place across the street?”

  “Yeah, why?” she responds while tying her graying red hair up in a messy bun.

  “Does Greg give you stuff for free?”

  “Who’s Greg?”

  “The guy who works there.”

  “Oh. No. Why? Do you get shit for free?” she asks.

  “Ah, well, yeah. Last night he gave me a full tank of gas when I bought milk and a candy bar.”

  She eyes my belly. “Must be trying to get in your pregnant panties.”

  “No, I don’t think that’s it at all,” I tell her. “He doesn’t even stare at my boobs.”

  “Huh,” she mutters. “Only you would waste time worrying about why someone gave you something for free.”

  “Yeah. It’s stupid,” I agree with a shake of my head. “Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Your daughter Beth is eighteen now, right?”

  “Yeah. Why?” she asks with an arched red eyebrow.

  “I was wondering, what are her plans when she graduates from school?”

  “Nothing. Not a damn thing at the moment, no matter how many times I ask her,” she huffs.

  “Oh, well, do you think she may be interested in being my nanny after the baby’s born?”

  “Maybe. I could ask her. I’m guessing the pay would be shit?” she remarks with a grin.

  “Less than shit,” I admit with a blush. “But she could come live with me, free room and board and meals if there’s food in the fridge and cabinets.”

  “I’d pay you to get her out of my house. I’m tired of arguing with her over every little thing like who ate the last muffin or why isn’t her favorite pair of jeans washed when she just wore them yesterday!”

  “That sounds…annoying. Still, I could put up with washing her clothes and buying her endless muffins if she could just keep an eye on the baby while I work at night.”

  “So all she would have to do is get up with the brat if it starts crying in the middle of the night and you’ll be home during the day?”

  “That’s my plan,” I agree. It’s not a great one; but with limited options, it’s the best I can come up with.

  “I’ll talk to her and let you know.”

  “Thanks, Nancy,” I tell her.

  “Yeah, yeah. Who can say no to the sad woman who is eighty months pregnant?

  “I’m only five months along!”

  Eying my baby bump, she says, “Could’ve fooled me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Malcolm

  * * *

  “What’s new?” I ask Greg when I waltz into the gas station one Friday afternoon before reporting to the boat.

  “Apparently not your approach,” he replies with a grin. “It’s been, what, three months and you still haven’t gone to talk to her face to face?”

  “I don’t need to talk to her,” I huff as I take up my usual position in front of the window. Lately, I just drop by for a few minutes, not letting myself stay too long because it’s not good for my mental health. Trying to abstain turned out to be even worse. “I’m just checking in to make sure she’s okay.”

  “Does she look okay to you?” he asks as he leaves his post behind the counter to come stand beside me.

  “I don’t know…”

  “Because to me she looks like that blueberry chick from Willy Wonka. Well, except she’s all red-faced and sweaty.”

  “Give her a break! She’s, like, eight months pregnant by now!” I remind him.

  Grabbing a pack of Twizzler’s from the shelf, Greg rips the wrapper open and goes at the red candy. “You feel guilty for doing that to her. I don’t blame you. That’s a tough row to hoe.”

  “What the fuck did you just say?”

  Taking another bite of his Twizzler, he goes on to tell me, “You’re right to blame yourself. I would too. I mean, for you, it was what, just one hot night of pleasure? And for her, well, nine months is a long time to have your body taken over by a parasitic alien.”

  “It was more than one time,” I remark. “Usually more than once in a night.”

  “Bareback more than once, huh? So you don’t even know which time it was that did the trick, sealing her fate as a single mother and yours as a lonely, creepy stalker.”

  “I don’t even know for sure it’s mine,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, right. Could be any number of the men who come and watch her from afar like pathetic losers for months on end.”

  “I’m gonna fucking kill you for running your mouth one of these days,” I warn him, but he just keeps chewing, completely unfazed. I know a lot of stone-cold killers, but all of them would envy this odd convenience store clerk’s composure. Not for the first time, I wonder what kind of shit this dude has seen that completely deadened his nerves. With a huff, I ask him, “Why do you think she hasn’t asked me for a DNA test yet?”

  “I don’t know,” he replies. “Maybe because she doesn’t want you in the baby’s life.”

  When a low growl escapes me at hearing that infuriating notion, he holds up his palms, waving his Twizzler at me and says, “You asked the question, dude. Not my fault if you don’t like my answer.”

  “If she wants my money, then she has to let me in their life.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want your money either,” he says. “Again, that’s just a possibility, not a judgment.”

  “What woman wouldn’t want my money?” I ask.

  “One who doesn’t think that putting up with you is worth it.”

  “She obviously needs help!” I exclaim. “She works twelve hours a damn day in a diner and lives in a rundown hellhole!”

  “Tell that to her, not me. If it were me, I would definitely carry your kid for eighteen years of cash.”

  “Fuck off,” I tell him.

  “Look, dude, she’s not going to be like this for much longer. Soon, she’ll pop the kid out, and her body will get hot as hell again, and then men will want her even with the screaming baby around. If you ask me, now is about the best chance you’ll have to get her back, before she has options again.”

  “Do you know how many women I could have right now if I wanted them?” I tell him.

  “Dozens? Hundreds? How would I know? I’ve got bad teeth and I run a gas station. I don’t have a lot of experience getting attention from women. I have to actually work for it.”

  “A lot. As many as I wanted.”

  “But none of them are her, right? Which is why you would rather watch her from across the street than take one of the others to bed. Sort of pathetic for you, but I’ve never been in love. Maybe this is just how it makes people act.”

  “I don’t love her,” I argue with a scoff. “We were only screwing around together for a few weeks.”

  “How long does it take to fall in love? Some people say it happens in seconds when it’s love at first sight. Why not a few weeks?”

  “You sound like the biggest pussy on the planet,” I tell him.

  “Says the man who has been pining away for his baby mama for months and hasn’t done a damn thing about it. Do your bros know how pussy whipped you are for pussy you’re not even getting inside?”

  “Fuck you, Greg.”

  “Hey, I got laid last night,” he says. “Be honest with me, when was the last time you bumped uglies with a woman?”

  “You’re full of shit, and that’s none of your goddamn business.”

  “So, in other words, Naomi was the last woman you banged eight or so months ago. How sad is your dick right now?
”

  “Shut up,” I tell him with a sigh. As if I actually expect my words to stop his mouth from running. Just like Naomi, Greg isn’t scared of me, and nothing I do seems to intimidate him.

  “That bastard is probably ready to mutiny,” he continues. “Does it even work anymore, or did she take your balls away from you too?”

  “Low blow, Greg. Low fucking blow.”

  But he’s right. Naomi owns every part of me and has for months now, even though I’ve tried to move on. It’s impossible. I can’t forget her, especially since I know she’s carrying my kid. Yet, for some reason, whether it’s pride or fear, I can’t figure out how to go about getting her back.

  I thought she was a distraction I didn’t need, and then I was certain she intentionally got knocked up because she’s a thief who prefers to take money rather than earn it.

  Now I just feel like a giant asshole who is so twisted that I don’t know which way is up. My closest friend the past few weeks has been Gas Station Greg. He’s the only person I can talk to; I can’t even begin to explain to my boys what I’m going through.

  And yeah, maybe I’m pissed at the guys because they are all free to screw whoever they want; but as soon as I sleep with a woman and feel protective of her, they think I’m going to run the entire MC into the ground. It’s not fair that I’m held to a higher standard just because I’m the president.

  While the MC has always been the most important thing in the world, and that probably won’t change anytime soon, I can’t help but feel like maybe there’s room for something else in my life too.

  If only I could figure out how to get it back.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Naomi

  * * *

  This morning it took me twice as long to get ready because of the pain in my lower back. In fact, it’s so bad that I haven’t even been at work for ten minutes before I escape to the bathroom to sit down on the toilet seat in one of the stalls while I wait for the cramping to stop.