WED TO THE BIKER: Skeleton Kings MC

by Parker, Zoey

  The panic I’d been feeling very quickly turned to dread.

  “And all of that aside, Katia, what the hell are you thinking sneaking around with Dante like this?” Anya glared at me. She tucked the photo back into the folder and slipped it into her purse. I groaned inwardly; the way she was chastising me was making me feel like I was her child and she was my mother.

  “I’m not sneaking around with him,” I said. My voice sounded as petulant as a child’s, too. “I’m doing everything I can to stay safe.”

  Anya raised her eyebrows. “By sleeping with him? You’re an adult, and even though you’re used to being spoiled, you know it’s not always possible for you to get your way.”

  “What the hell are you saying?” I was so offended that, for a moment, I was tempted to stand up and walk right out of there. “Are you calling me stupid and immature?”

  “Katia, I just know that you’re not exactly used to dealing with all of this heavy stuff.” Anya sighed. “I’m not trying to insult you—God, I hope you’d know me better than that!”

  “It feels like I’m being attacked,” I said in a small voice. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Anya.”

  “Well, I don’t know how to keep helping you if you keep sleeping with the help!”

  I glared at her. “Dante is not the help.” I reached down and took a sip of my cocoa, barely tasting it as I swallowed. The words I’d just said were stuck in my mouth. I realized how snobby it sounded; to even use the phrase ‘the help’ was probably one of the worst things I’d done in the past decade.

  “So?” Anya rolled her eyes. “Katia, you’ve spent years building this image. You know what you are to your public. They need to see you as a single beauty queen, independent and always having fun.” She shook her head bitterly. “And if you keep sleeping with random guys, that’s really going to ruin your image.”

  I stared. “I’m twenty-seven,” I said slowly. “Don’t you think I should be allowed to have some fun now and then?”

  “It’s not about what I think.”

  I winced. I didn’t want to admit it, but I knew Anya was right. Deep down, she didn’t give a shit whether or not I was sleeping with my bodyguard. But she had to care because I had to care because my public had to care.

  “I’ve slept with other guys,” I said, skirting the issue. “And you didn’t mind then!”

  “Well, some of those guys were famous in their own right,” Anya replied. “Jake Jones—he’s an A-list movie star! And even Colton Todd is a big name in the comedy world now. It did loads for your reputation to be able to date those men.”

  “We weren’t dating,” I told her honestly. “We were just sleeping together.” I wrinkled my nose. “Especially Colton, God, who’d want to date him? He’s a total pig!”

  I cringed at the memory of Colton Todd. We’d met two years ago, at a benefit for the Disabled Youth of Los Angeles. I’d been so charmed by him. He wasn’t conventionally handsome and was about a foot shorter than me, but he’d been so funny and sweet that I’d immediately accepted his dinner invitation.

  We’d only been on one date before having really raunchy sex in the back of his SUV. Our little affair had only lasted a couple of weeks, but I’d enjoyed every dirty second. At least, I’d enjoyed it before Colton had mentioned me in a stand-up special. He’d called me frigid, and joked about needing to melt the ice off his dick before he could go out with another girl.

  I’d been so hurt that I’d cried for a week, but Anya had convinced me that it was for the best. “After all,” she said. “You wouldn’t want him to get out there and talk about how you were good in bed. That would have been even worse!”

  I hated it. There was nothing more frustrating than living in L.A. as a single woman and watching men have all the fun. Men got to do everything they wanted: eat a ton of food in public, get wasted at L.A.’s hottest bars, and sleep around with models, actresses, and beauty queens like myself. It wasn’t fair. It was the twenty-first century, and women couldn’t do any of that stuff without getting called slutty or fat or lazy or even worse, desperate.

  I’d been called a lot of things in my life, but thankfully, desperate had never been one of them.

  “I just don’t see why I can’t act like a single woman,” I said as I picked listlessly at a scone that Anya had pushed in front of me. I frowned. “Is this gluten-free? You know I’m trying to stay on that diet.”

  “That’s another thing, Katia,” Anya said. “You’re looking a little puffy.” She reached out and touched me on the cheek. “Have you been eating dairy again?”

  The memory of perfect omelets in the kitchen flashed back into my mind, and I groaned. “It was just once. I had to make an exception. Dante cooked for me this morning.”

  Anya’s jaw dropped, and her eyes rolled back in her head. “Are you kidding me?” She frowned. “Are you even listening to yourself right now?”

  “Why?” I took a bigger bite of the scone, savoring the taste of sugar-crusted blueberries on my tongue. “What’s so weird about that?” I snorted. “I eat other people’s cooking all the time.” I raised my eyebrows at her. “It’s not so strange. Remember, we haven’t been able to find another chef who would do Paleo and gluten-free.”

  Anya rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she repeated. “Dante cooked breakfast for you. And you think that’s normal?”

  I swallowed hard. Suddenly, I didn’t like where this was going. I felt dangerously close to revealing my true feelings to Anya. Sure, it was the reason why I’d wanted to meet up with her in the first place, but now I couldn’t tell her. At least, I didn’t want to tell her.

  “I do,” I said. Shifting in my seat, I tried to look as casual as possible while glancing over my shoulder to see what Dante was doing outside. “I mean, it’s normal for us.”

  “Us?” Anya repeated, making finger quotes in the air as she spoke. “Katia, I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’m really worried about you.” Her forehead creased. She sighed, ripping out her ponytail with a savage hand and twining the rubber band between her fingers. “This isn’t like you at all. You’re not usually the kind of girl who forms attachments like that!”

  “Well, this is different.” I sniffed. “I know it’s just temporary. But I like him, Anya.”

  “You like him?”

  I swallowed hard and nodded. “Of course I do. He’s grown on me.”

  Anya shook her head. “Katia, I don’t think that’s the way this is playing out at all. It’s not just about you liking him. You want more, don’t you?”

  I sighed. I hated the way she could read me like a book. Our interactions had always been like this; it was typical for Anya to anticipate my needs before I could even bring them up myself. I’d always appreciated this in the past, but right now I couldn’t deal. It was too much.

  “I like him a lot,” I added quickly. “But that’s all it is.” I huffed as I looked out the window and caught a particularly beautiful young blonde girl checking out Dante’s ass as she walked by. He didn’t even notice, but I knew it was only a matter of time. He was a red-blooded man, the kind of guy who’d notice every single woman who walked past. I knew he was distracted because of the phone call that morning.

  When I thought of telling him about the photographs, I cringed. Deep down, I worried that Dante wouldn’t want to put his hands on me again after knowing just how much danger we’d both be in. Thinking about it made me start to sweat all over again. Someone had broken into my condo and photographed me while I was sleeping.

  “Are you sure?” Anya leaned forward and pulled the rest of the scone from my hands. I stared at her. I’d lost my appetite, anyway. Between thinking about a stalker sneaking around in my bedroom and Anya’s obvious disdain for me at the moment, I wanted to go bury my head in the sand beneath the Santa Monica Pier.

  “No,” I said. I leaned back in my chair and pulled my Gucci sunglasses down from my head. Wearing them made me feel like I had a little bit of armo
r, at least. Still, I felt like Anya could see right through whatever attempts I was making at being casual.

  Anya rolled her eyes. “That’s what I thought,” she mumbled. “Katia, this is the absolute last thing we need to be dealing with right now.” She shook her head. “Imagine how it’s going to feel when you have to fire Dante because he won’t stop coming on to you. I knew this was a bad idea. We should have hired someone from a firm, instead of a freelance guard like Dante. Those bikers are all the same.”

  “What?” I wrinkled my nose at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Katia, I would have thought that was obvious by now,” Anya said slowly. “Dante’s growing too fond of you, and you obviously indulged him.” She tapped the envelope resting on the table containing the photographs of Dante and me in bed together. “And now you’re going to have to let him go.”

  My heart was clanging in my chest. I wanted to be real with Anya, to tell her the truth about what was really going on. On the other hand, I could have burst out laughing. Of course, Anya would have made the assumption that Dante was obsessed with me, not the other way around.

  I’d never shown that much interest in a guy before, not even Colton Todd. Ever since I’d been a teenager, I’d had to deal with excessive attention from men, and my parents, then my handlers, and now Anya had all coached me in how to appear perfectly disinterested in whoever was trying to court me.

  “The thing is,” I said slowly. “It’s not exactly Dante who’s the problem right now.” I crossed my legs at the ankle and shifted in my seat. “It’s me,” I added after the longest pause of my life. “It’s me, Anya.”

  “What do you mean? Have you been leading him on?”

  “No!” The word practically exploded from my mouth, so loud that the people at the next table looked over. I sighed and let my forehead rest against my hand. They were still staring when I looked back up, but a glare from Anya had them quickly blushing and turning back around.

  “Well then, what have you been doing, exactly?”

  “I think I’m in love with him.” Blood rushed to the surface of my cheeks, and I stared at the floor, waiting for Anya’s inevitable rebuke. “I mean, I really think I love him.”

  “Katia.” Anya was shaking her head. “You don’t know what love is.”

  “What?” I squinted, letting my sunglasses slide down the bridge of my nose until they were almost hanging off my face.

  “I mean,” Anya said quickly, blushing as well. She flipped her brown hair over one shoulder and furiously knotted it up again in an elastic band. “You’ve never had a real relationship, Katia. And dating in L.A., well, it’s not exactly like dating anywhere else.”

  “You think I don’t know how to love because I live in L.A.? Ouch.” Anya’s accusation stung almost as much as the thought that Dante would be glad to get rid of me after all this stalker business was resolved.

  “It’s not that. It’s just… Well, Katia, men are different here. You might think you love Dante, sure, because you’ve spent so much time with him recently. He’s seen you without makeup,” she pointed out. “That’s not like you at all. I bet you’re just hung up on him because you feel so comfortable around him.”

  I blinked. “I really do love him.” My voice was quiet. For a moment, I wasn’t even sure that Anya had heard me. Then she looked up at me with a sad smile on her face.

  “Katia, you can’t get into a relationship right now.” She swallowed a sip of her latte and set the cup down with a thud on the table. I got the sense that Anya was holding back from me—just a little bit, but still. It was enough to make me regret coming here at all.

  “Why?”

  “I’ve already told you,” Anya said. “You’re everyone’s girl-next-door in L.A. You can’t go ruining that.”

  I swallowed. “Anya, I’m twenty-seven,” I said softly. “I can’t stay single forever. What about when I want to get married and start a family?”

  Anya snorted. “Honey, this is L.A. Reality check, it doesn’t happen for most women until they’re in their forties, and you can freeze your eggs. Lots of women do that.” Anya eyed me over the tops of her wireless glasses. “And Katia, really, it’s not like you’d want a baby any time soon. You’re too young. It’d ruin your figure.”

  I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “It wasn’t ever something that I thought I wanted,” I told her. “But I don’t know. Being with Dante is making me question everything.”

  “Oh, God,” Anya said. She slapped her forehead. “Don’t even start, Katia. I haven’t had enough coffee to deal with this conversation.”

  I glared at her, suddenly angry. I didn’t like this Anya, this sarcastic, snappy Anya who wouldn’t take anything I said seriously. I almost preferred her when she was in kiss-ass mode, subservient and quiet, handing me sugar-free lattes and gluten-free treats just to keep me in a good mood.

  “Too bad,” I replied sharply. “You’re my personal assistant, and you need to hear this. What if I’m thinking about a career change? Or even putting my career on pause? I could write a book,” I added. “Well, not me, but I could hire someone to help.”

  Anya laughed. “Yeah, write about what? How to succeed in beauty pageants? Step one, don’t eat. Step two, don’t do anything but smile. Easy, right?” She smirked at me, and I felt what little confidence I had left erode further.

  “No,” I replied. “Not like that. I mean, what if I wrote a memoir about growing up and having leukemia and overcoming all of my obstacles? Don’t you think little girls would find that inspirational?”

  Anya looked over my shoulder, and I followed her gaze, half-expecting to see Dante staring at some girl’s ass. Instead, she was looking at a group of pre-teens who stood clustered by the entrance to the coffee shop. They were probably between ten and thirteen years of age, and they were all sporting unisex haircuts and big sunglasses.

  “Katia, girls now like skateboarding and stuff,” Anya said dismissively. “No one dreams of growing up and being Donald Trump’s fifth wife anymore. Don’t you know that?”

  “Well, what the fuck do you want me to do?” I practically exploded. “Get rid of Dante and stay in my condo like a fucking ice queen, smiling and waving my hand and never speaking my mind? Is that seriously what you think I want for the rest of my life?”

  Anya stared. Her jaw dropped, and I noted with satisfaction that I’d rendered her mute, at least temporarily.

  “Katia, maybe you need to go home and lie down for a while,” Anya said softly. “This isn’t the best time to discuss everything. You’re obviously upset because of this whole stalker thing.”

  Tears came to my eyes, and I brushed them away carelessly. I knew that I couldn’t start crying in public like this. Photos would be all over the tabloids if anyone caught me. Still, I felt hurt and angry and frustrated. Not to mention alone. Anya was always the person I’d confided it, and now that she wasn’t listening, I didn’t know where to turn.

  “You don’t care,” I said miserably. “You don’t care about me or what I want. What if I just fired you, Anya?”

  Anya shook her head. “That wouldn’t be wise. And Katia, I do care about you. But right now, I don’t think you’re in the best mindset to make decisions. You’re stressed and upset. It’s understandable. Do you know anyone who’s been stalked before? Maybe one of your friends from the pageant world?”

  I sniffed. “What friends?” I mumbled. It was true that most of the other girls I’d competed against hated each other. Sure, no one acted like that; everyone was all smiley and friendly, at least until you turned your back.

  I remembered at my first big pageant, I’d been so happy when one of the girls cozied up to me immediately. Then, my formal dress went missing and appeared on stage on her twig frame. I’d lost the pageant, obviously, but I never forgot the sting of how it had felt to be played like that. And ever since then, I hadn’t gone out of my way to make friends in the pageant scene. I’d only been the requisite amount of nice
.

  “What about that one girl? What was her name? Jenna?”

  “Gemma,” I said automatically. I frowned. Gemma Roberts was one of the girls who had advanced at roughly the same time I had. She’d been into ballet and baton-twirling, which had usually scored higher marks with the judges than my singing. But she wasn’t a natural blonde. She was a dusky, dirty-brown brunette, and my hair had always given me the advantage. After all, I embodied the All-American girl; everyone had always said so.

  “Well?” Anya prompted me. “Didn’t something happen with her?”

  I sighed and closed my eyes. “It was a long time ago,” I said curtly. “And I think she made it up for attention.”

  “Katia, listen to yourself,” Anya said derisively. “You’re so narcissistic! Everything is just all about you, but whenever someone’s been through the same shit, you just think they’re lying for attention!”