by Naomi West
His eyes held hers like a snake-charmer mesmerizes a cobra. “I'll pay you five-hundred-thousand dollars to have my baby.”
Thank God he'd waited till she'd finished swallowing! That was more money than she could imagine, especially right now. But, it wasn't enough to completely guarantee a life for her, or for a baby.
“I'll pay your living expenses while you're pregnant,” he continued, “and support him after he's born. My father left me more than enough money. Normally, I wouldn't give two shits about it, but I need it for my mom. Okay? This isn't even for me, and you'd still be making a killing on it.”
All of her money problems would be taken care of. She could stop dodging Martin, the embodiment of filth that masqueraded as her landlord. Her mouth was suddenly dry, but she swallowed anyways.
His eyes were steely, his voice made of granite. “My word is my bond. You'll be taken care of if you do this for me.”
There was something about the determination in him, a weird sense of a rogue's integrity. He was unlike any man she'd ever met before. And here he was, a man who lived or died by his honor, staking that honor when he made this promise. Star knew she shouldn't believe him, but she did. She believed him with ever fiber of her being.
But, still, that was probably just the liquor and beer believing for her. “When's my appointment with the doctor, then?” she asked, a heavy note of sarcasm dripping into her voice.
“Doctor?” he asked, genuine surprise in his voice. “No doctors. We'd just do it the old-fashioned way.”
“The old-fashioned way?”
“You really are prim and proper, aren't you?” he asked.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“I mean,” he said with an oddly sexy curl of his lip, “we fuck.”
“Listen,” she said. “I don't know you, and you don't know me.”
“Perfect,” he said. “I want to keep this about making a baby.”
“Not about raising one, then?”
He shook his head. “The only thing I care about are my brothers, the Blood Warriors. You and I, we have a baby. I get paid, you get paid. Simple as that.”
Star laughed a little, nervous about the conversation, and about how the man across the table from her was making her feel. She wanted to agree, if only because she might get to see what he had beneath that biker vest and tight black shirt if she did.
“I don't even know your name,” she said, “and you don't even know mine.”
“Tanner Rainier.”
“Star Bentley.”
“See? That simple. We're practically fucking already.”
Laughing uneasily, she shook her head. “I don't really think practically fucking is enough to build a life around, or enough to make a decision. I'm the one who has to carry a baby for nine months, after all.”
“How about this?” he asked. “How about we meet again tomorrow? When there's no beer involved?”
“No shots, either,” Star said, taking another drink of beer.
He nodded in agreement. “There's a park on the square, downtown near the courthouse. How about noon?”
Star thought briefly about her busy schedule of sitting around being unemployed, before agreeing to the meet.
“Good. Noon, then,” he said and vacated the booth with his beer. He nodded a goodbye to Jethro, and was headed for the door before Star had a chance to reconsider.
Even though she was nervous about their meeting tomorrow, she watched as his perfect, tight-jeans-covered ass disappeared through the front door. Her eyes lingered, waiting to see if he'd come back in.
“What in the hell have I gotten myself into?” Star wondered aloud before finishing her beer.
Chapter Three
Star
The roar of the bike punched through the gentle quiet of Main Street as Tanner pulled up at the park. Star smirked a little to herself as she checked the time on her phone. Even though she'd only known Tanner for the space of one conversation, she could say one thing about him: he was punctual. It was exactly noon.
She'd been up half the night, worried out of her mind that this was all a sham, and that the sexy biker had been pulling her leg. The other half, she'd been fretting about this not being a sham, and how she would handle the fallout of her decisions. Now, she sat there on the park bench, weighing all her choices.
One thing she knew, though: it wasn't an option to just leave her life the way it was. What kind of existence was moving from low-rent apartment to low-rent apartment, having no one other than her friend Patricia to rely on, and working awful temp jobs where old businessmen just leered at her body while she got them coffee? No reliable man in her life. No husband. No children. Did she want that till she died? If so, what was the point?
Star chewed on her lip as she watched him approach, as she traced her eyes down and around his strong, goateed jaw, over his slicked-back, wavy hair, and across his broad chest and massive arms. He looked even better out here, in the warm light of day, than he had in the dingy, poorly lit Old Crow.
She could feel herself getting excited as she thought about what it would be like if she signed this deal, if she climbed into bed with him. The feel of his flesh pressed against hers.
She bet he'd fuck her like a real man, too. Not like any of those prissy, unstable flings she'd had.
“You still in?” Tanner asked as he, wearing his MC vest and tight jeans just like the day before, came stomping through the neatly trimmed grass and planted himself right next to her. He had a big manilla envelope in one hand, and he slapped it down on the bench next to him.
Star shivered a little at his proximity, at the smell of exhaust and musky manliness that seemed to roll off him. “I don't know. I mean, how do I know it'll be worth my time?”
He stretched out an arm and put it across the back of the bench like he owned the place, and her. “Believe me,” he said as he glanced down at her, “it'll be worth your time. I brought the paperwork from Pops' estate, if you want to look at it. That way, you know I'm not just making crazy promises.”
She glanced over at the envelope, then back to him. “I probably should look over it.”
He picked up the papers and handed them over to her. “Be my guest.”
She opened the bundle up and looked inside. She immediately saw a bunch of legal documents. She pulled them out and set the empty envelope across her lap, then started to read. Sure enough, it looked like he was telling the truth. There were lots of different assets, and lots of zeroes on their financial assessment.
Geez. Was he really worth this much money?
She mulled over the decision, didn't say anything for a bit. She worried away at her lower lip. Now, with him so close, it seemed so real. She could tell just from the way he handled himself that the “old-fashioned way” would be fun. But, something inside her recognized the danger. I mean, a guy like this, he'd probably been with tons of girls. But, in the end, why her? She put the papers back in the envelope and handed it to him.
“Come on,” Tanner said, clearly just jabbing at her a little. “I've got shit to do. You in? Or out?”
“Why me?” she asked.
“Why not you?” he asked. “You're good looking, you seem smart. Even better, you're not some trashy whore. I'd be fine with you raising my kid.”
“Funny,” she said. “You want a woman you can pay to have your child, but you want one that's not a whore. The irony is strong with this one.”
“Yeah,” he said, looking around again. “I know.”
“Are you clean?”
“Do I look like a fucking moron?” he asked sharply, as his head snapped around and his eyes found hers.
“I'm still withholding judgment on that one,” she replied, smiling.
In return, he seemed to just barely allow himself a little smile. “Yes,” he said, accentuating the word. “I'm clean. Any other questions?”
With the way they were sitting on the park bench, his lips were just inches from hers. She could just lean
forward and . . .
Her eyes flickered from his eyes, down to his full, delicious mouth. “Do we have to kiss?” she asked.
His eyes followed suit, but his glance down lasted longer than hers. “Why not? I've always figured work should be a little fun.”
She smiled, bit her lip again. “Okay,” she said with a nod. “I'm in. But only because I need the money.”
“Sure it's not because of my winning personality?” he asked, smirking.
She didn't respond.
“Didn't think so. I'll pick you up tomorrow night, alright?”
“Tomorrow,” she agreed, before giving him her address.
Finished with their meeting, he got up from the park bench and went to his bike. She kept her eyes on him the whole time, taking in the way he moved, the way he seemed to stalk across the grass like a predator. One part of her already regretted her decision, but another was conjuring butterflies to flutter in her stomach. It had been so long since she'd just been allowed to have fun, to cut loose.
Maybe, with this she could let things go for a little while, even while she solved her problems and gave her life some new direction.
Besides, it'd be good to get laid. Even a prim and proper priss like herself needed a good fucking every once in a while. And, as she watched the rugged, handsome biker pull out to roar away on his bike, she knew Tanner was the man to do it.
Chapter Four
Tanner
“Hey old man,” Tanner said to the tombstone planted just at the top of the slight incline at the back of the cemetery. The name “Logan Rainier” was chiseled across the front, with the epitaph “Loving Father and Blood Warrior to the end” just below it. On the ground, a spot next to the plot lay empty, just waiting for when Tova Rainier gave up the ghost. Hopefully, that'd be later, rather than sooner.
He drove up here after leaving Star at the park. He didn't tell his mom he came up here, sometimes. He didn't want her asking about what he talked about.
He hadn't brought his pops flowers or anything. Instead, he'd brought a little pint of bourbon that he clutched in one hand. It had been his favorite brand when he was alive. “Brought you some Knob,” he said, holding it up so his pops could see the label. “Wasn't sure what else you'd want, since you didn't ever like flowers or any of that shit.”
The old man didn't reply. Not that Tanner thought he would have. He leaned down and set the bottle up against the base of the big chunk of marble.
“Got the letter about your estate, you old goat fucker,” he said as he turned away and looked out down the rise to the opening of the cemetery. They'd interred him up here, near the back, so he'd always be able to look down at the highway that led to the Blood Warriors clubhouse. This way, he could keep an eye on the boys as they rode by.
“Still can't understand why you always wanted me to settle down, but always told me not to. Or how you'd fuck over your own wife like that. I get that there's hard decisions to be made, old man. I understand that sometimes we don't get a choice between an easy path and a hard one, or that if we don't choose soon enough, life will choose for us. But, you really fucked me over on this one, you know that?”
He turned back to the tombstone and squatted down next to it. He reached out, ran his finger over the inscription laid there. Loving Father? What a joke. What kind of father would put his kid through this shit? And what kind of husband would do to his wife what old Logan Rainier was doing right now?
“You know what, though? I made my choice. Found a hot little piece of a girl, one that's proper and shit. She'll be able to raise your grandchild, but she'll be out of this town. She won't slow me down, or tie me up and make me settle. Hell, I'll hardly know the kid's mom. That kid'll be your legal, alright, but it'll never know who you were, or bring you whiskey. Nothing.
“And, do you know what the best part of it is, pops? I'm going to use your money to fix this problem. I'm paying her half a million from your estate to help me beat this shit you threw at me.”
He grabbed the bottle of Knob Creek and cracked it open. He looked at it in its hand, flipped it around and looked at the back. His pops had loved this shit, had been his liquor of choice. God, the old man had been a drunk, though. Tova Rainier had to come drag him home, drunker than piss, from the Old Crow more times than Tanner could count.
Thankfully, he hadn't been a mean drunk. He'd never laid a hand on Tanner's mom, or him or Brendon. Well, not when he was drunk, at least. He'd whooped him and his brother plenty of times for being little shits. They'd more-than-deserved each smack from the belt, though.
He cracked open the bottle of whiskey and took a big, healthy swallow off it. The liquor went down hot and smooth, burning the whole way. He exhaled the fumes and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then poured out a drink or two for the old man.
He settled back against the tombstone and looked out on the highway. He saw a biker down there, ripping along the countryside. Maybe it was Tyke? Or Blade, the man who'd replaced Logan Rainier as President of the Blood Warriors? Could've been any one of his many other brothers.
“Brendon's still missing, by the way,” he said, conversationally. “Still haven't seen him since he left with that whore of his. Sorry, I know I said I'd find him before your funeral.” He took another swig of whiskey and sucked air through his teeth.
“The club's doing good, though. Tyke kicked down one of those Roaming Wolf bastards a couple weeks back. You'd have been proud of him. Left that poor fool bleeding in the street. And Blade's still doing a good job. He really cares about the club, just like you did. Cares about the guys in it, too, and our honor. Not just the name.”
He kicked at a tuft of grass near his boot. “Mom's not doing well, though. You left her in a bad place, old man. You let the house fall apart, and now it's coming down around her ears. Then, you went and did this shit with the estate, tied everything up in this fucking trust of yours. I know you did it just so I'd be backed into a corner, too. But, you could've left Mom out of it, Pops. You could've set some aside, just for her.”
He looked out at the highway, at the cars going by under the afternoon sun. “But then, you know, accidents happen faster than we care to admit. Life's with us, then it passes us by, right? Is that what you're trying to do with this shit? Give me some stability, so maybe I'll appreciate the world around me?”
Tanner shook his head and drank another swallow of Knob Creek. “Nah, you're just trying to be a dick, even from beyond the grave. Always were, always will be one, huh? Why let death slow you down?”
He set the now half-empty pint of whiskey down next to the grave marker and leaned it back against the immovable marble rock. “You keep the rest, old man. I gotta get going to see how the bar's doing.”
He hopped up to his feet and went back to his bike. He climbed on his motorcycle and took one last look at his pops' gravestone before he started it up and took off.
“Fuck you, old man. I'll beat you at your own game. Just you wait and fucking see.”
Chapter Five
Star
“Look, Martin,” Star told her skeezy, middle-aged, skin-and-bones landlord, “your money's coming, okay? I just finalized something yesterday, and I think I can get everything paid by the end of the month.”
He propped himself on the frame of her front door with one hand, barely concealing his leering appreciation of her body. “Yeah, believe me, I've heard everything in the book, sweetie. Had one guy tell me once that his grandma was on death's door, and he was getting her whole estate. Turns out he helped her progress along to get the inheritance. They found her chopped up and stuffed in her own septic tank.”
Gross. Star made a face, regretting so many decisions in her life, particularly the one where she'd moved into this furnished apartment that Martin owned. Cockroaches and ants she could deal with. Even the shitty, abusive neighbors next door. Hell, she even sometimes liked the loud music from the guy upstairs.
But, above and beyond all that, the worst part o
f moving in here had been Martin. The way his eyes were on her hips and breasts, leaving a cloying, filthy feeling behind on her skin as they swept over her body. She shivered inside, and fought to control her face.
“Just pointing out, I've seen it all and heard even more.” He slapped the door frame twice, punctuating his statement. “But, how's this? I like you, Star. You seem like you've got some shit luck, but you're alright. Look, I'll get you a payment plan, sorta, in the mail, alright? We go from there.”
A group of bikers rode by, sounding like a symphony of tailpipes as they ripped along the road. Their chrome shined under the afternoon sun, glinting like a million diamonds as they tore down the street.