Shield My Heart (Heaven Hill Book 9)

by Laramie Briscoe

  Forcefully, he grabbed her wrist and shoved it back against the mattress. “Not yet,” he mumbled, his voice deep. “I want you to come first.”

  Her eyes stared deeply into his, and he got the feeling she knew something was going on—that he was a liar. Closing his eyes against the intense heat of her gaze, he went back to work on her nipple before clasping their fingers together.

  “I don’t need pretty,” she hissed. “I just need you. I need to know you still want me.”

  The words were said in such a vulnerable tone that he couldn’t deny her. There had been little of this between them lately, and Dalton could understand where she was coming from. Mandy always had the impression he had a long line of women waiting for him if they broke up. He’d tried to assure her more often than not that such an impression was only in her head, but if this was what she needed, he would do it.

  Using his free hand to unbutton his jeans, he pushed them down over his hips, taking the rest of the clothing with him. The stars were shining down on him because Mandy wore a skirt. Pushing it up, he moved her panties to the side and plunged deep inside her with one stroke.

  The mutual groan they both let out was loud. A telling sign of how much the two of them had missed being intimate.

  Burying his face in her neck, he nuzzled the hair away before dropping a kiss on her skin. There was no leisure to their movements. What had started out as something he wanted to savor, he quickly realized he couldn’t. His hips thrust in; he pulled out, and pushed back in again.

  All too soon, he felt the tightening of her body and knew he couldn’t hold back any longer. Collapsing on top of her, he listened to the beating of his heart and the way he panted, hoping he could calm himself back down. She decimated him in every way.

  Mandy’s arms came around his shoulders, holding him tightly to her. “I feel like if I let you go, you’re not gonna be here when I wake up,” her soft voice admitted as they lay in the dark.

  Turning his head so that he could kiss her on the forehead, he said gently, “Go to sleep. Everything will be fine.”

  As he snuck away in the middle of the night, Dalton thought about what a liar he truly was.

  ‡

  Chapter Four

  “How are things going, Mandy?” Dr. Sparks, her OBGYN, asked as she had a seat on the table.

  “Good.” Mandy smiled brightly; the brighter she smiled, the less people questioned. She’d been perfecting it long enough it almost came across as genuine now. “Dalton’s working at the shop again today. Dad’s got him doing everything out there, and they’re so busy.” She laughed off the fact she was alone for her appointment. Everyone in town knew how busy the shop was, so no one ever questioned her.

  It was one thing to be going through this by herself; it was another to have to be that woman in the waiting room without a husband or a boyfriend. She’d taken to making excuses for Dalton. Telling everyone there was one reason or another why he wasn’t with her. It made things easier, at least for her, because then she didn’t have to admit he didn’t care about her. In certain ways, it was easier, but in others it hurt worse.

  “Okay, why don’t you lie back. We’re gonna see if we can hear the baby’s heartbeat today, and make sure everything’s progressing the way it should be.”

  Mandy hadn’t expected that, and a rush of emotion grabbed her by the throat. These emotions were going to kill her. She’d never been an emotional woman before, but lately she was crying at the drop of a hat or at a long-distance commercial—whichever got to her first. She wished like hell Dalton were here. After he got his head out of his ass, he’d be really pissed he missed this opportunity. She knew that without a doubt.

  She half listened as Dr. Sparks talked her through the motions, and then she heard a steady thump, thump, thump loudly in the room.

  “Is that it?” She giggled, not being able to help herself. It was stronger than she’d assumed it would be, and faster too.

  “Yeah.” Dr. Sparks smiled. “That’s it. You’ve got a healthy one.”

  No words had ever been more precious to her, and in that moment she sent up a little prayer that maybe Dalton would come to his senses. As much as she wanted to be a strong, independent woman, she knew their child would never forgive him if he didn’t pull his shit together. And above all, he’d never forgive himself.

  *

  If there was one place Dalton hated, it was the Warren County Jail. Most of his childhood had been spent visiting one, or both, of his parents here. It was where both of them had been for the last fifteen years this time—with five more years to serve. In the time his dad had been incarcerated, they’d progressed from being separated by Plexiglas to face-to-face meetings.

  “Lance Barnett.”

  He heard his dad’s name called and stood, preparing himself to face the man who had given him life. He hated having in-person meetings with the bastard. It was like looking into a mirror. A reminder of everything he hated, because they were the spitting image of each other. Lance had dark hair, just like him, the same strong jaw, and the same halfway crooked nose. They even had the same smile and eyes. Life really was a bitch sometimes.

  If truth be told though, he hated this man. Hated him with every ounce of his being and wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire. It didn’t matter he gave him life, because sperm didn’t make a man a father. He’d never been any kind of role model, hadn’t even taken care of him and Deacon. That had all been Samuel, which pissed him off too, because it was why he was here now.

  “Dalton.” His dad gazed at him, letting his eyes trail over his son. “Been about six months since I’ve seen you. You’ve gotten bigger.”

  Dalton waited until his dad had a seat and then sat across from him. It was true; without having Mandy around all the time, he’d spent more hours in the gym. Not only to keep his mind off her, but to be keep himself from going crazy. It was either that or take up something besides smoking, and smoking was a bad enough habit to have. “Cut the shit, Dad. I’m not here for family time. You don’t give a damn how big I’ve gotten in the past few months, and I don’t care how many dicks you’ve taken up the ass while you’ve been in here. I need some help. Only reason I came to see you today.”

  Dalton hated that those words had to come out of his mouth where his dad was concerned. He’d prided himself on never having to ask the asshole for help, but Samuel had taken them in when they’d needed someone, and he’d be damned if he let Samuel suffer now.

  “Help?” Lance asked, looking around, choosing to ignore the dick comment. He leaned in, eyebrow raised. “If you ain’t noticed, I’m not really in any kind of position to help anyone.”

  In the attire given to him by the jail, Dalton could see that his dad had gotten a few new tattoos on his arms since the last time he had been there. One hundred percent the reason Dalton never got any on his own arms. “Yes you are,” Dalton argued. “You know Calvert,” he mentioned the name of the local bookie. He was able to deal on the inside too, because he had such a wide network of support.

  “Calvert?” his dad questioned, his eyes wide and wild. Playing it off like he didn’t know what the hell his son was talking about. “What the fuck are you doin’ getting mixed up with Calvert? You’ve never been a gambler. If I taught you anything, it was to never spend money you don’t have. If there’s one thing I know, you took that lesson to heart.”

  That was the only lesson he’d ever been taught from the man who sat in front of him. “You haven’t been around enough to know if I like weed on Wednesdays and races on Sundays. But either way, it’s not me. It’s Samuel. He owes Calvert a lot of money, and I can’t get my hands on that kind of cash right now.” It pained him to admit he couldn’t take care of this himself.

  “Damn, Son.” He shook his head, trying to figure out why Dalton would want to go toe-to-toe with a guy that dangerous for his uncle, but he wouldn’t even acknowledge that his own father sat in front of him most of the time. “Why are you trying to pull Sa
muel out of this mess? You’re gonna end up hurt, or the people you care about are gonna end up hurt. He’s not some guy who takes five-dollar bets on UK games.”

  Dalton cut his dad off. “You think I don’t know that? I’m not a dumbass, and don’t call me Son. You haven’t kept that right after all the shit you’ve put us through.” What he didn’t say to his dad was he’d gotten wind through other people and then found a paper trail proving Samuel owed over a hundred and twenty thousand dollars to the man he was seeking out. Men had died for less than that, and he knew it. Because of Samuel’s and Dalton’s affiliation with Heaven Hill, it put them at a greater disadvantage. Samuel had been a hang-around for as long as any of them could remember and always helped out in the garage when they were slammed. Many of the members saw him as more than a friend but less than a brother. He was an acquaintance they took care of. Calvert might come to Heaven Hill, asking for payment, or he might try to take it. Dalton wanted to avoid that if at all possible. This was personal, private, and he wanted to keep it that way.

  “Still holding that chip on your shoulder and that grudge in your heart, I see. You’re gonna go to your grave hating me, when we both know it’d make you feel better to forgive.”

  Forgive? He wasn’t God, and he didn’t have to forgive anybody. How did he explain to the man who’d created him that he always would hate him? There was not one reason in this universe for him or Deacon to forgive their parents for the hell they’d lived through.

  “I’m not here to talk about me. What I want is to talk about you,” he reminded his dad. “I need your help. I know Calvert’s got men in here, and I know you’re probably sucking up to them in order to have your back watched. I need to buy some time. To get the kind of cash this is going to require, I need a few days. Possibly a week. Can you do that for me?”

  Lance’s eyes went down to the patch on his son’s cut. “Why don’t you ask the other family you got? What about that little girl you’ve been fuckin’ since you were a teenager?”

  Rage burned deep, and Dalton felt his blood pressure sky rocket. Tunnel vision was the only thing that allowed him to concentrate on his dad, the only thing that kept him from standing up and pushing his chair to the ground. “Shut the fuck up about her.” He’d done his best to keep Mandy away from this part of his past, this part of his blood. Lance rarely acknowledged she was a part of his son’s life. For him to mention her now, even if he hadn’t called her by name, pissed him off.

  He’d known this was a bad idea, had tried to talk himself out of it the minute he had it, but he had to try. He owed his uncle a debt of gratitude, and he took that debt very seriously. Samuel had never acted like he and Deacon were a problem, even when it would have been easier for him to let them go to the state. Dalton would do whatever it took to take care of this for the man who’d taken care of them.

  For once in his life, his dad looked at him with fear in his eyes. His tone was urgent as he spoke to the son he’d never truly given a chance in this world. “You don’t know who you’re messing with, Dalton. Calvert’s not going to give a shit about the patch you wear or who you know. Knowing him, he’ll want you because of that patch you wear. Heaven Hill’s the only thing keeping him from having full control of this area.”

  “Then he’s underestimating me. He’s underestimating the people I ride with, and he has no idea the kind of power we pack behind us.”

  Lance leaned forward so that he could talk quietly to his son. “Oh c’mon, there’s talk in here that Heaven Hill has lost its edge. Everybody’s domesticated now. It’s not like you’ve got anything to fight for. What business is it that the club is even doing right now? That piddly-ass garage? Like that makes you some sort of saint because you guys make legit money? Repos are a great business too, aren’t they? What the fuck happened to you guys?”

  Dalton could see how someone like his dad would think that, but he also knew the members of his club. They would fight because they were domesticated. It made them even deadlier in his opinion. But knowing other people were talking didn’t sit well with him. He’d have to give Liam a heads-up.

  “We’ve got more than what you think. Believe what you want to, old man, but we’ll protect what’s ours with our last breath. You better remember that. If I hear you’ve started shit in here that escalates to out there,” he pointed out the window of the jail, “you’ll have me to deal with. You might remember me as a little kid you could kick and throw around, but make no mistake about it, I’m a man now.”

  He hoped his dad took the words for what they were and didn’t think to question Heaven Hill’s commitment ever again. Knowing he wasn’t going to get what he came for, he made a move to get up from the table, stopping when his dad clapped a hand on top of his.

  Dalton cut his eyes to the man who sat there. He took a good look, seeing the sunken set of his eyes, the age lines on his face, and the pale pallor of skin against the orange jumpsuit he wore. His hair was beginning to thin, and Dalton hoped like hell he looked better than what he was staring at when he was fifty-two. “Can I help you?”

  “You come all this way and ask me a shit-ton of questions, but you don’t even offer me any money for the commissary? What kind of bullshit is that?” He leveled him with a stare, the one he’d used when either one of the boys threatened to back talk him when they’d been younger. The one he’d used right before he’d smack them upside the head or across the jaw.

  Dalton sighed, reaching into his pocket and grasping the twenty-dollar bill he’d stuck there for just this purpose. Throwing it down on the table, he walked out, his head held high.

  At one time, he’d let his parents control how he felt about himself. No more. He was his own man, and he’d tried his best to build a life he would be proud of—and for the most part he was—but he still didn’t think he’d be able to bring a child into the chaos. A child would be better off without him as a father.

  *

  Dalton inhaled and exhaled steadily as he walked out of the jail towards his bike. After situations like this, he needed to be on the back of his bike, needed to feel the rumble of the engine between his thighs. The only thing that felt better there was Mandy and her heat.

  His thoughts immediately turned to her. Being this close to the town square, he couldn’t help but turn his bike in the direction of Charity’s office. Even if he couldn’t bring himself to walk inside and say something to Mandy, he would be able to tell if she’d made it to work or not. He wondered if she was sick, if she cried for him, and how their baby was making her body change. All those thoughts were pointless though, because he knew he had to stay away.

  Driving down the side street, he saw her car and breathed a sigh of relief she was there. He liked keeping tabs, even if it did make him a bastard. Pulling out onto the main avenue, he gunned the bike as he drove past the plate glass window. Feeling her eyes on him, he refused to glance over.

  To protect her and the baby she carried—it was best for them all if he stayed as far away as humanly possible. That meant no encouragement, no contact, and most of all no alone time.

  In the end, he hoped he still had a relationship to come back to; and if not, it was a price he knew he would willingly pay to keep them safe.

  ‡

  Chapter Five

  Mandy wasn’t sure if she wanted to fume, rage, or chase after Dalton as she watched him pass by the window of Charity’s law office. He looked good on the bike, completely in control of the horsepower between his thighs. It’d always been a turn-on for her, and it pissed her off he could still affect her like this. More than anything, she wanted to get out of her chair and run after him, force him to stop and listen to her. She wanted to take her rightful place behind him, throw her arms around his waist, put her cheek on his shoulder and let him drive her to a place they could be alone together. He taunted her, showing her a little bit of what she could have, but also what she couldn’t have, what he refused to give her. As in all things with him, she was undecided on what to
do.

  Her heart wanted one thing, while her head told her to do something completely opposite. It wasn’t the first time he’d done a drive-by of a place she’d been in, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. She wanted to call him, demand to know why he didn’t come inside, why he didn’t ask how she was doing. She wanted to send him a text and tell him how her body had changed, how sick she’d been, and how much she wished he were with her.

  She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t her, it was him. That’s what Doc Jones kept telling her. Not to take it personally, that apparently Dalton was going through something highly distracting right now. Doc Jones speculated it was making him withdraw into himself and it was emotionally tapping him out.

  The fact of the matter was, he hadn’t told her though, and that’s what hurt more than anything. In the years they’d been together, she hadn’t fully earned his trust. She’d stood by him, no matter what had gone on, and he didn’t trust her? If he had, she would have been the first person he ran to with any problem. It hurt like a motherfucker that he didn’t trust their relationship enough to come to her with any problem he had, and damned if it didn’t piss her off too.

  Her temper ignited. She could feel her blood pressure skyrocket and her hands shook with fury. It wasn’t fair. She was going through something too. Namely a pregnancy she hadn’t planned, one he refused to acknowledge. Her emotions were all over the place, her boobs were growing, she couldn’t fit into her goddamn favorite dress anymore, and her feet were getting wider. She realized these were all first-world problems in the grand scheme of things, but what about her? Her feelings?

  When the fuck had her life turned into a Lifetime movie?