by Zoey Parker
His jaw ached with the pressure of his teeth grinding together. He waited to speak. If he opened his mouth right now, he might jump across the room and chew her to bits. So he ground his jaw harder and glared at her.
“I never would have called you if I knew,” she continued. “I wouldn’t have even picked you up that night I found you on the road. I would have just called an ambulance or something. And you can be sure that what happened last night would never, ever have happened if I had known the truth about you. I feel sick to my stomach that you were around my daughter.”
He took three long breaths in and released each slowly. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. He could see the fear in her eyes. She was likely used to being beat badly for speaking anything close to words like that to her ex. Maybe she was thinking of that right now. Thinking of all the times she’d dared to stand up to Nick and all the ways she’d paid for it. She probably thought if he was so much like Nick, he’d come over there and give her a black eye. But hitting her was the last thing he wanted to do.
“Believe me,” he said through gritted teeth, “if I had known what a judgmental prude you are, I wouldn’t have touched you either.” He spat the words from his mouth like venom.
She swallowed hard and took a step back.
“Don’t do that,” he said. “Don’t step back, looking like you’re afraid of me. I know you think I’m just like that asshole, Nick, but I’m not. I’ve never hit a woman and I never would. But to you, we’re all the same, aren’t we? We’re just a bunch of low life bikers hanging out all day throwing fists and robbing stores. Probably think we steal children and put them on the streets, too. Hell, I hear there’s great money in that. Why not?” He shook his head. “You disgust me. How could you judge me like that? After the days we spent together? After last night? You don’t think you saw the real me in all that time? You’re going to stand there and think you’re so much better than me? You’re some perfect little mommy who has it all together and can’t do anything wrong? And I’m a no-good street rat who will bring Little Miss Perfect down. Well, I am so sorry I tainted your perfect little life and your innocent little bed.”
She glared and wiped tears from her eyes. “Get. Out.”
He could hear her breath hitching in her chest. She was ready to lose it. He wondered if she got destructive when she was angry. With an ex like hers, probably not. Unless she was the type to act out in the same way she was acted out upon. Some people did things like that. They got beat at home by their dads, then turned around and beat up kids at school or guys at the bar or their wives at home.
She didn’t seem like the violent type, though. She was probably only a crier. She’d sit and sob for hours. Well, let her. Yeah, he’d thought she was perfect. And apparently that was the problem. So did she. All the years of abuse had made her righteous toward others. Oh, her husband was so awful, she must be amazing by comparison. No freaking thank you.
How could he have fallen for this crap? Started to have serious feelings for someone who could act like this? Who would judge him like that?
“You don’t know shit,” he hissed at her. “About me or my club.” He spun on his heel and left the room.
In the living room, he snatched his helmet from the ground and made a point of closing the door extra quietly behind him, just to prove he could. See how she judged that.
Chapter 7
By the time he got to his bike, his guts were aching. How stupid of him to let her get to him like that. To let her in and make him feel something. This was why he stayed single and liked it that way. No chick around to tangle him up and piss him off. He’d done nothing wrong. She hated him just for being who he was. And that pissed him off more than anything.
He slammed his helmet on his head and jumped on his bike. He hit the gas hard, flying through the streets, weaving between cars. There would be no riding slow today.
If he’d done something stupid, that would be fine. If he’d said something insensitive, dropped a curse word in front of the kid, or was mean to the kid. If he hadn’t come to protect her, if he had been too rough in bed. Anything. That would be okay. He’d fix it. But how could he fix who was? He’d always been this, and this was what he was meant to be. He had never been able to hold a traditional job and didn’t want one. Why work for some ass eight hours a day when he could work just a few hours and make more money? It made no sense. Legal jobs made no sense. Break one or two little laws and the money could pour in. He’d seen both ends of it, and no way was he ever going back to working for the man.
A shame, too, because he could afford to give her a nice life. Get her out of that tiny apartment, let her quit her job and stay home with her kid and maybe make a few new kids with her. He’d always take care of her. He’d treat her special and make she sure knew how important she was to him. She’d be safe and respected. The guys in his club would worship her like his queen. But she didn’t give him the chance to show her any of that. She’d decided he was no good and that was that. Nothing he could do to change it, short of leaving the MC and getting a straight job. And there was no way either of those things were going to happen. She’d have to accept him as he was or not at all. And she’d chosen not at all. Fine. Let her stay in her shoebox being afraid for the rest of her life, judging all men like they were her ex.
As hard as he shouted these thoughts in his mind, he couldn’t deny the ache. His chest, his guts felt like they would implode. The heavy weight brought him down and he even thought if he sat down and let it happen, he could cry right now. How had she gotten to him so badly so fast?
Little flashes kept coming to him. He’d see her smile and a sting would follow in his heart. Then he’d hear her say, “I feel sick to my stomach that you were around my daughter,” and the rage would tear through him again. And the kid? Emma? He’d see her, too. The way she’d asked him to help her and to play. How she’d accepted him just fine. She was a cool kid and though he hadn’t thought much about kids in general, he liked her. He even missed her a little and the way she wanted to include him in everything already.
He turned down an empty street, the one he’d been racing to through the twists and turns of traffic, and really opened his bike, the scenery flying by too fast to see. He loved this road. And it was like the cops wouldn’t go there because he never saw them. Never got pulled over or anything on this road. It was exactly what he needed to clear his mind.
But his mind wouldn’t clear. Becca. God. He wanted to turn around. But he wouldn’t. She might have left for work anyway. Could he go there? Talk to her in the gift shop with people around so she couldn’t get mad? No, that would make her mad. And he didn’t want to discuss his business in public anyway.
He could maybe call her. Though he’d rather see her face to face and know what expressions she was making. But maybe the phone would be better because he wouldn’t be in her presence to scare her. What could he even say to her, though? Was there a way to convince her he was better than she thought?
Well, he was a criminal. He did steal and sell illegal things and stuff off trucks and the black market. That’s just how business went. No guns, though. Drugs were lucrative enough and guns were a hassle. Too hard to get, too hard to make sure they were clean, too hard to move. Drugs were easier to come by, took seconds to test for purity, and moved faster than they could supply it. He’d only been joking about the hooker thing. They’d never considered dealing in girls. Too much hassle again. You had to train them and hope they didn’t rat on you. Had to keep some level of control over them, and it wasn’t worth it. Plus, after seeing his mom be controlled by his dad all those years, he couldn’t do it. Abram did some of that, but not the Jagged Rebels. Leave that to the Scared Birds to deal with. They’d only kill him even faster if he stepped on that territory anyway.
So, there would be no convincing her he wasn’t a criminal. Though she had mentioned something about violent crimes. And, really, his weren’t. He only killed people when he had to, only f
ought them when it was necessary. He didn’t rob at gun point, the Rebels were strongly forbidden from rape of any kind, and he didn’t do anything else violent. Maybe if he explained all that, she’d come around on the criminal activity. She’d said she was okay with the drug dealing.
Then she’d mentioned the fighting. Well, okay, so they did a fair amount of that. But it was mostly bar fights. Nothing serious. And no one ever pressed charges because you’d only get beaten worse if you did. Besides, that was a pussy way out. Then there was the rival MC stuff. He’d have to take out Abram and his guys, but that was only going down because they’d tried to kill him and would again. That was self-defense. Even in a court of law, he’d be let off for that. In fact, he’d have to make sure it looked like that when they took care of the Screaming Griffins. That way, if any cops sniffed around, they’d come out okay if it came down to it.
Maybe there was no way she’d be okay with that, but if he assured her they mostly only fought casually for fun or seriously for self-defense, he could make it seem like they were less violent. Most of them didn’t hit their girls or wives or kids or anything, if he found out they did, he always made sure they knew it was not okay. He’d send them home bloody and limping, and in one case, on the second warning, he hadn’t sent a guy home at all, but to the hospital. His wife had been awfully grateful. Maybe that story would mean something to her. That the Rebels didn’t stand for mistreating women. They didn’t pick fights often or without good reason. They didn’t do violent crimes usually. What else was there for her to complain about, then?
She’d probably find something. Some reason to hate him. Didn’t they always? The last one complained he wasn’t home enough. The one before said he wasn’t romantic enough. Whatever that even meant. Nothing was ever good enough. Well, the one who went totally crazy on him hadn’t complained. But then she’d gotten into more fights than he had. That was why he was so hooked on Becca. She was normal, calm, gentle. She was a mom and had been an awesome wife—even if her ex was a total dipshit who couldn’t see that. She could cook and clean and wasn’t afraid to work hard to pay her bills or get up and leave the bad situation of her marriage. She was strong, like his mother.
Crap. That was it, wasn’t it. She completely reminded him of his mother. No wonder he was already falling for her. And his mother would love her like she hadn’t liked any of his other girlfriends. And she came with a built-in grandkid? Practically a guarantee she’d go nuts. His whole family would love her. He pictured her there on holidays or Sunday dinners. How she’d help his mother in the kitchen, how she’d look so pretty sitting beside him at the table, how Emma would play and make a mess and everyone would think she was so cute.
The ache came back and ripped through him. He needed a plan. Either he’d talk to her, try to win her back, or he’d have to find a way to not think about her and to move on. Maybe he needed a booty call or something to take his mind off her.
He heard the whoop of a siren and glanced behind him. No. Come on. Not today of all days. There were never cops on this road. Never. He pulled to the side of the road and put down the kickstand. Then he slid off his helmet and tucked it under his arm. He watched the cop approach.
“Morning,” the officer said. He looked at him through dark sunglasses.
“Morning,” Rowan grumbled back. He squinted at him, wishing he also had sunglasses.
“You were going a bit fast there.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. It’s been kind of a day.”
“Well, let me see your license, insurance, and registration.”
Rowan set his helmet down carefully, opened the zippered pouch on his bike, and took out his insurance and registration, then dug into his wallet for his license. As always, he ran through his recent activities, wondering if he could possibly have any warrants. Should he just hop back on his bike and take off? This was not a good time to have a warrant and go to jail. That’d ruin things for sure with Becca. If they weren’t ruined already.
He handed over his info to the cop and watched him walk away. Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose. How long was this going to take? The sun was already getting hot and beating down on him.
After ages, the cop came back. Rowan’s stomach tightened, waiting.
“Okay, just sign here,” the officer said.
He handed him a pink slip of paper attached to a metal clipboard and a pen. It was only a ticket. He signed on the line.
“You have ten days to pay or dispute it,” the officer said.
Rowan nodded. He had someone who would take care of this for him.
“Any questions?”
“Nope.” Rowan picked his helmet back up.
“Have a good day and slow down. Be safe out there.”
Rowan nodded and slid his helmet on. He started up his bike and drove off, keeping his speed down until the cop passed him. Then he turned around and zoomed off at the same speed he’d been pulled over at.
Didn’t this just make a great day. Ricky could probably take care of the ticket. He had family in the local police, but it was still a hassle. Was the whole world out to get him today? His mind drifted back to Becca and again, the ache was there.
Screw it. Why not make the day as awful as possible? He headed toward the gift shop where Becca worked. If it went horribly, it would only fit everything else.
As he got closer, he started to feel nervous. That was ridiculous. Why should he feel nervous? Several possible conversation starters went through his mind. Should he just outright try to convince her? Play it cool, like she hadn’t affected him at all? What would work on someone like Becca? Did he need to do some grand romantic gesture like bring her flowers? Seemed like that would be sweet, but probably not enough.
He zoomed by a flower shop and turned at the next block to circle around. Every little bit helped, right? He needed anything to give him extra brownie points right now. He went inside and looked at the flowers. Roses seemed too…already in love or something. He spotted some flowers that were colorful and cheery-looking. The sign said chrysanthemums. Sure, whatever they were, they looked good.
“Can I get a bunch of these?” he asked the woman, pointing.
“Any certain arrangement?”
“Uhh…just something bright and happy.”
“Sure.” The woman selected several flowers and put them together in a bundle, then wrapped them with tissue paper. She handed it to him and he gave her cash.
He walked out and tucked the bunch onto the back of his bike, making sure it was secure in his bungees and wouldn’t be damaged. Then he drove slowly through town toward the shop. He turned into the parking lot and sat facing the store.
Becca was in the large window at the front of the store, setting up an arrangement. She wouldn’t be able to see him where he sat, so he watched her for a while. She placed half a dummy on the floor and turned it so it faced at just the right angle. Then she hung scarves and necklaces on it. At the base of the floor display, she set up other items. A lamp with a decorated shade, an arrangement of silk flowers in a tall vase.
She looked peaceful. Happy. Serene. Some other woman came up behind her and she turned to talk to her, then broke into laughter. God, that smile. He wanted to be the one making her smile like that. He glanced back at the flowers. They seemed small and dull. A pointless gesture. What was he thinking?
She didn’t want him. She wouldn’t find his gesture romantic. She’d never be convinced he wasn’t just another bad boy like her ex. He’d never have her. She’d never be his.
The feeling in his stomach settled into a rock. It felt hard and heavy and weighed him down. He wouldn’t go in there. He wouldn’t make a fool of himself. He just needed to forget her. And she was right about one thing he’d refused to think about: he had brought danger to her and Emma. That man who’d followed her and put a gun to her head was because of him. It wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t picked him up on the street and cared for him. She wouldn’t have felt that fear or had to do thi
ngs like push her couch in front of her door at night to feel safer. He was bringing bad things into her life. He wasn’t making anything better and he was a fool to think she’d ever see something good in him or in them being together. He would only bring her more trouble. He needed to leave her alone. He needed to move on.
Rowan unhooked the flowers from his bike’s seat. He walked over to her car, checked back to make sure she couldn’t see him, and set the flowers on her roof. Maybe they’d be there later, maybe they wouldn’t. He stepped back and looked at them sitting there, lonely. He closed his eyes for a moment, then walked back to his bike.
Before he drove off, he took out his phone and called Nate. If he were going to get Becca off his mind, the best way to start was to focus on his guys and the club and getting the Abram junk taken care of.