by Ryan Michele
“Did I say you could come in?” he barks, and I jump at his unexpected words.
“I—”
“No. I didn’t fucking say you could come in here.”
I’m so stunned by his harsh tone that I don’t know what to do. My feet are stuck to the floor. Do I stay? Do I go? I’m not sure which. And why in the hell is he so pissed off?
“I heard you yelling and thought I could help. Sorry.” I start to shut the door, realizing I need to get the hell out of here. Thankfully, my feet are finally listening to my brain.
“Stop,” he barks, and once again, my body listens, halting in its tracks. “Shut the door and come here.”
Before I can think, I’m standing in front of him by his desk where he sits with his bloodied hand wrapped in a towel, the redness seeping through the fabric.
“Can you get the glass out?” he asks me.
Again, I don’t even think, only move on instinct, grabbing the small tweezers on the desk and pulling the lamp closer to his hand to see better.
“You gonna move the towel?” I ask, ready to examine his hand.
He grunts, setting it to the side.
The gash from the glass is deep, red, and a bit puffy. The blood has slowed to only a trickle since he held the towel for compression. However, small shards of glass reflect in the light.
Rhys says nothing, but grabs a bottle of amber liquid from the floor beneath him, taking a hard pull on it then setting it back down.
Carefully, I remove each small piece I see while Rhys doesn’t even flinch or move an inch. This has to hurt in some way. Even when I pull out a larger chunk of glass, no reaction comes from him. He sits there stoically, unmoving, unyielding. I can’t help being impressed by his strength.
“Does it hurt?” I ask carefully, trying to gauge how he’s feeling and not doing a great job of it.
“Doesn’t feel good,” he remarks, picking up the bottle and taking another swig.
I pull out the last shard and look up at him. “You should really get it cleaned out and stitched up.”
My mouth gapes open as Rhys takes the bottle of liquor and pours it directly on the cut. Again, he acts as if he poured water on it, and it doesn’t burn in the slightest. He doesn’t move, simply pulls the bottle back up to his lips and drinks.
“Clean,” he comments.
I close my mouth, gathering my thoughts because, at the moment, they are all over the place: confusion of his anger, admiration for his strength, lust for his body, and so many more that I can’t put my finger on.
“Stiches?” He sets his bottle down and throws me a small bottle of liquid stiches.
“All righty then,” I mummer, opening the bottle. I’ve used these before; there isn’t anything to them.
I reach over to a box of Kleenexes, pull some out, and dab his wounds, getting the liquid off. I then begin to place the clear liquid on the wound.
“Why did you do this to yourself?” I ask, pulling the skin together to seal the cut and then holding it taut.
Rhys takes another drink. If I had drunk as much as him, I would be drunk as hell right now. A cold shiver goes down my spine from remembering the last time that I was in the presence of a drunk, and my hands still.
“What?” he asks, startling me from my thoughts.
“Nothing,” I answer quickly, needing to get this over with then get the hell out of here and to my mother. Rhys still scares me, and having him drunk, my gut tells me, is not a good situation.
Rhys sets the bottle down as I hold his cut together, letting the stitches do their job. His other hand comes to my chin as he lifts my head, and my eyes fly to his.
“You don’t lie to me, Sprite. Ever.” The seriousness in his tone and eyes floors me. I feel compelled to listen to him, and I have no idea why.
I give a soft nod. I also can’t help the pang that rushes through me at the name sprite, another something confusing.
“What were you thinking about?” he asks.
When I pull my bottom lip into my mouth and try to think of how to put this, his thumb comes to my lip, pulling it away from my teeth. I open my lips, my tongue darting out to touch the top of his finger automatically. He tastes of man and salt.
Rhys growls low and deep as my pulse begins thumping rapidly in my veins. What is going on here? Who am I kidding? I know exactly what is going on. My body is responding to this scary as hell man who could be old enough to be my father.
“You’re drinking a lot,” I finally answer. “Last time I was with someone drunk, it didn’t end so well.”
“I’m nowhere near drunk,” he tells me, and I can’t stop the uncertainty, so I divert.
“How long have you known Dagger?”
He quirks his brow as I work. “Nice change.” He catches me. “I’ve known him about twenty years.”
“And that makes you how old?” I’m digging. I admit it. I want to know more about this man. He intrigues me like no other. I sort of get the biker hard from the outside, but is it on the inside, too? Just from our brief conversations, I’ve only learned he has no family, sort of like me. Somehow, I feel that connects us.
“Forty-four.”
I think for long moments, trying to decide how I feel about it. On one hand, society would have a field day with it, but I’m not society. I can’t worry about what others will think, but the one I am concerned about is my mother. Listen to me, already thinking ahead when I have no idea what’s even in front of me.
“What?” he asks.
“You’re twenty-one years older than me,” I tell him, something he already knows. “How old is Dagger?”
“Fifty-one.” My eyes widen as I do the math in my head. My mother is forty-one, so that makes my father ten years older than her. Wow. I let that sink in for a moment. When my mother said she was young when she hooked up with my father, I didn’t realize he was that much older.
I snap out of my thoughts, finish up his hand, and then sit back on my heels, looking up at him.
“You gonna talk or let me guess what’s going on in the pretty head of yours?”
He said pretty. I bite my lip. “Just doing the math on ages.”
“Does the age thing bother you?”
That is a very loaded question. I think I’m a little stunned more than bothered.
I shrug. “It’s my mother and Dagger’s life,” I finally say, because that fact is true. I can’t be the judge of any of that.
“I meant that I’m twenty-one years older than you.”
My eyes widen just as the air in the room starts crackling with a charge between us. Some invisible connection between the two of us flairs to life, and my breathing picks up as I feel it deep in my bones.
Rhys eyes me. “Fuck it,” he grinds out.
His hand on my chin leaves me and is placed behind my head. He pulls me to him, his lips touching mine. I take that back. His lips don’t touch mine; his lips devour mine. I’ve been kissed, but this isn’t kissing. What Rhys is doing to me is all-consuming, sucking every bit of breath out of me and leaving me so wanton I fall into it. His lips move with the precision of years of practice, knowing each movement with ease. They are soft yet demanding as he plunges his tongue in my mouth, taking everything I give and then taking more.
I wrap my arms around his hard body as he stands from the chair, pulling us together. Each plane of his defined body touches some part of mine. His hands move to my arms, pulling them away from him. I follow willingly, too involved with the kiss to give anything a second thought. All I can think of is him and the fire burning inside me.
He clutches my wrists in one of his big hands behind my back, subduing me. His other hand comes to my face, the warmth of it seeping into my blood.
He abruptly pulls away, and my wanting lips try to follow his to get them back, to get the glorious feeling that he gave me back.
“I’m going to tie you to my bed and fuck you all damn night.” The deep baritone of his voice, combined with the words he spoke, set
off a fire so hot inside that it inflames me.
I have never been tied up, never thought I would want to be, but in this moment, I’m pretty sure I would do anything he said.
Rhys studies me intently. “Fuck. Your pupils are dilated and cheeks are pink. You fucking like it.” He doesn’t give me a second to answer as he collides his lips to mine again, taking me in a punishing, brutal, delectable kiss.
“Tanner!” Dagger’s voice booms through the closed door just as Rhys pulls back in a huff.
“Fuck,” Rhys growls. “In here!” he calls to the door as it swings open.
Dagger’s eyes scan me up and down, and I turn my head from his stare. I don’t feel bad about what I did, but he’s my father, and that has to be weird or something. Hell, I don’t know. My head and body are still so wrapped up in Rhys that I can’t think.
“Fucking hell, Rhys,” Dagger says in an annoyed tone.
“What do you fucking want?” Rhys growls, his hand still restraining mine.
I pull, trying to get away, but he only tightens his grip, so I look up at him.
“Stay,” is all he says to me, and I blink my eyes rapidly.
Did he just tell me to stay like some fucking dog? The fog he put me under starts to evaporate as anger replaces it.
“Let me go.” I give him my fuck-off voice and tug on my arms again.
“No,” he says then turns his attention back to Dagger. “What?”
“Brother, let her go.” The air in the room changes, becoming thick and dense. It’s coming off both Rhys and Dagger like a bulky smoke.
I suck in a deep breath, knowing I’ll only add fuel to this fire if I don’t tread carefully.
“Rhys,” I call, getting his attention back. “Please let me go. I have to go check on my mom.” I say it calmly, trying to defuse the bomb that I feel may go off at any moment.
“That’s why I came to find you. She’s awake and demanding she see you.” Dagger shakes his head from side to side. “She hasn’t changed a bit.”
There is so much I want to know to this story, but one situation at a time.
“See? I have to go,” I tell Rhys, whose eyes are pissed as hell and brows drawn together.
After what feels like the longest stare down in my life, he releases my hands, and I pull them in front of me then begin to rub my wrists, hoping he didn’t leave marks on my body. I already have enough of those.
I step back a few feet, giving us some distance. “Hope you feel better,” I tell him, still rubbing the sensitive skin as I turn to Dagger. “I’m going to her.”
I dart from the room so fast one would think my ass is on fire, but I don’t care. I need time to process all of this.
I RUSH INTO Dagger’s room to find the bed is empty, and my stomach plummets.
“Mom?” I yell, concern and fear cutting through me like a sharp knife.
The door to the bathroom opens, and my mother appears with Princess holding her up.
“There you are.” Her voice is filled with pain. I would do anything to fix that for her.
I move quickly to her side.
“She had to pee while waiting for you, so I took her,” Princess says, sitting Mom down on the bed gently.
I help her get comfortable on the bed, moving the pillows and pulling up the blankets to cover her body.
“Thanks,” I tell Princess, so happy she was here to help my mom.
“Looks like you were busy.” Princess chuckles.
My eyes flash to hers, my hands moving to my lips. They feel full and puffy. I shake my head, hoping she understands me. My mother is lying here, hurt, and there is no reason to bring anything else on the table right now.
“How are you feeling?” I ask Mom, focusing on her. Her brows are tight, and with only slivers of her eyes available to see, I can’t read her fully.
“Like I got beaten up.” She gives a soft chuckle then immediately begins coughing from it.
I sit on the bed, instantly feeling like the adult to her as the child. I grab her hand. “Mom, breathe for me. Slow and steady. In and out.” I mimic what I want her to do, and she begins following. Just by holding her hand, I can feel her body begin to relax.
“Want me to give her something?” Princess asks, angling her head to her tackle box of meds.
I nod my head, not wanting my mom to feel any pain at all. Ever.
“Mom, what hurts the worst?” When the doctor came and checked her out while the boys were gone, he said that nothing was broken, but it would take her a while to heal. I’m also supposed to call him once she is lucid enough to answer questions. I need to remember to do that.
“My ribs and chest.” Her breath comes out a bit wheezy.
“Your ribs are bruised bad, but not broken. The doctor said it’ll take a while for it to feel better.”
My mother turns her head to Princess. “Are you the doctor?”
Princess smiles. “No. I’m Princess, Pops and Ma’s daughter.”
Mom tries to widen her eyes, but comes up short and moans in pain, instead. “Really?” she asks through her busted lip.
“Yep. Got a brother, GT. He’s around here somewhere.” Princess rifles through her box. “So, you and Dagger?” she asks.
My mother turns her head. “Yes,” is her only response, and this time, the ache in her voice is not from the physical pain she’s in. This is deeper. She sucks in a breath. “How’s Ma doing?” She changes the subject.
“Great. She’s with Cooper, my little boy, right now. She’s been by a couple of times while you were out.”
Mom gazes off. “She probably thinks the worst of me. Hell, I bet everyone in this club does at this point.” A lonely tear falls from the corner of her eye.
“Mom, they’ve all been great. You were right; I don’t know what they did, but Dagger took care of everything. We just need to get you better.” I brush the hair away from my mother’s face.
“But I need questions answered.” I jump at the deep voice of Dagger, who strides through the room and stops at the side of the bed.
My mother’s grip tightens on my hand, and I try to get a little bit of reprieve by pulling back, but it doesn’t help. It’s not fear, though. She’s not scared, but I can also tell she doesn’t want me to leave her, and I won’t.
“Here,” Princess says, breaking up the tension that has seemed to enter the air. She hands me a bottle with pills. “These will help her. Two every four hours, no more. They’re strong as hell, so they’ll keep her knocked out, but it’s the best thing for her while her body heals up.”
I take the bottle. “Thanks.” I set it on the bed next to me.
“I’m heading out. Call Doc,” Princess addresses me and I nod. “He’ll need to do whatever it is he does and make sure she’s good, but from the looks of it, she’ll be fine.”
“Thank you.” I feel like all I’ve done with Princess is thank her repeatedly, but she’s helped my mom out so much, so what else can I do?
Once she gives me a soft smile and leaves the room, Dagger pulls up a chair, moving it close to the bed and me. Is it unusual to feel this uneasy with your long-lost father? I hope so because it’s there, and it sucks.
“Mearna, tell me,” Dagger presses.
I would really like to hear this myself. What she told me in the car had to be the short version of it. So much more seems to have gone on here.
“I found out I was pregnant after I left, Cameron.” She closes her eyes and breathes out. “I mean Dagger.”
“And you’re sure she’s mine?” he asks, causing my back to stiffen.
My mother opens her eyes and narrows them at Dagger. “What do you think? Think long and hard about your answer.” He takes a bit, and Mom doesn’t let it rest. “You want a paternity test to prove it? Fine, do it. But you know she’s yours. I never messed around on you, and after I had her, I wasn’t with anyone for over three years.” That piece of information surprises me, but when I think back, I don’t remember ever seeing my mother with
anyone, not that I would remember at that age. It was just me and her, and we were happy with that.
Something flashes in Dagger’s eyes then dissipates. “You didn’t think to tell me?” Dagger presses, the gruffness in his voice changing from questioning to pissed, but his body stays pretty relaxed, given the topic of conversation.
“No,” my mother answers evenly. “I wasn’t going to tell you.”
“Why, because of the club?” Dagger’s voice rises.
“You didn’t love me, Cam—Dagger. I had already decided to leave. There was no need for you to know.” Mom shuts her eyes like the memories are too powerful to bear.
“You’re dead fucking wrong. I loved you, so don’t you dare throw that shit at me.”
I suddenly feel like I shouldn’t be here for this intimate conversation. I feel like the odd man out, but my mother’s steel grip on my hand tells me I’m not going anywhere.
“Second, you know, if I knew I had a kid, I’d want to be a part of her life.”
That statement hurts a bit, but I suck it down. I always wondered whether my father would have wanted to be a father to me or if he would have ignored me if he had known about me. I’m not sure how I feel about the answer he gave, though. Part of me aches for all the time I’ve missed getting to know him and the other part is so confused.
“What, Dagger? Going to bring her to club parties? Drink with your friends? Come on.” My mother’s annoyed voice catches me off guard. Hell, she doesn’t have enough strength to get to the bathroom by herself, let alone go toe to toe with Dagger.
“Bullshit. This isn’t on me, Mear. You did this shit. You fucking hid my kid from me.” Dagger’s fists clench, and I go into protective mode, immediately moving closer to my mother.
His eyes flash to mine in recognition of my stance. “I’d never lay a hand on her. Even though I’m pissed as shit that she kept you from me, I’d never hurt her.” He turns back to my mother who nods. I relax a little yet stay on guard.
“It was the best decision, Dagger. You have to admit it.”
“Bullshit. You didn’t tell me, because you didn’t want to come back. You wanted to stay away from me; that’s why you didn’t tell me. You knew that, if I knew about the baby, I’d have taken care of you, and you would have been stuck here with me. You wanted out, so don’t try this holier-than-thou bullshit on me. It doesn’t work.” Dagger’s tone is clipped, making my heart break for my mother. She still loves this man, and I have no doubt that what he says is one hundred percent true from the way my mother’s acting. How differently would my life have been?