Baby Daddy Bad Boys

by Harper Riley

  I gasp for air, struggling to keep up.

  “Bear... God... Bear....” I mutter under my breath, “I love how you... how you...” My mind drifts away again as I feel it coming back—that sensation deep within my stomach growing larger than a crater. It needs to be filled by him. He pulls me down so that I lay on top of his stomach. His hips rise, and his shaft pummels into me. I claw at the carpet until it comes like a crash. My eyes shut, and I hold on tight.

  “Sunday!” he shouts into my hair. “Fuck! Sunday!” His hips ease up slightly, and his dick pushes three long, deep thrusts into me. With my head on his chest, I can hear his heart thump rapidly against his dripping wet skin. I place my hand along the bear claw as he settles back in.

  We both lay there for a moment, unsure of what to say. Do I thank him for that second strong showing? Do I ghost out of here without saying a word like my original plan? Or do I just chill and wait for him to force me out? This shouldn’t be so awkward for a girl like me, but with Bear, there were so many questions and landmines to potentially trip on. I don’t want to be that girl.

  “Well, well...” he finally sighs, “I guess I can let you go now. You earned my shirt, but you’re gonna have to figure out what to do with your knees because I’m sure not giving you my pants.” It dawns on me that my original purpose was getting his shirt to hide my back. I glance down at my legs and see that now my legs are just as beat up from the friction of the carpet.

  “I’ll just say I tripped,” I laugh as I peel myself off of him and over towards my dress. I quickly get dressed while he goes on.

  “Tripped on my cock?”

  “Oh, shut up. It’s gonna be hell enough getting back with everyone ribbing me for this. I don’t need you adding to the trouble.”

  “You wanna know my secret?” he asks as I nod with a slight hesitation. He grabs my hand, yanking me back down to him. I somehow naturally rest within his arms as he whispers in my ear, “I don’t fucking care what anyone else thinks.”

  “I can tell, but you’re not me. You’re not club property either.”

  “You could say that, but I’ve got just as much, if not more, reputation to uphold than you do. I’m gonna hear about this shit for the rest of my life.”

  “Well, then it’s a good thing you won’t be seeing me again.”

  “I suppose it is,” he says, his smile disappearing.

  “Yeah,” I chirp back. I’m not sure if I should be insulted or relieved by his cold response, but I’m realistic, so it’s not like I’m expecting romance and rainbows. That shit is for girls with home mortgages and Gucci purses. Romance isn’t for women like me who do their men on the back of bikes and put brands on their shoulders for the clubs they want to be a part of. There are no happy endings for people like Bear and me—ever. I’m not sure why I would expect it now.

  “I guess I should be going,” I announce as I find my purse. “You need anything from me, well, I guess you know where to find me.”

  “Yeah,” he says from the floor of the motel room. “You too, Sunday.”

  I walk myself out the door and into the sunlight. The bright California light practically blinds me after spending all night and day in that stuffy room. And it quickly dawns on me what rough shape I really am in. My legs tremble, my pussy’s sore as hell, and my head is throbbing from the unnoticed hangover. But what’s killing me now is the sinking feeling that something is off or that I forgot something. I hate these fucking feelings where I can’t tell my left from my right, and nothing really makes sense. I should be feeling like the damn Queen of Sheba after a conquest like that, but there’s a tugging feeling that just won’t go away every step I take towards the street.

  With the motel room and Bear’s vintage motorcycle behind me for good, I hail a taxi back to headquarters. The whole while, I go through what I need to say and who I need to shut up around. There’s to be no bragging around the guys, no talking about how good or bad Bear was in the sack. I’d be careful around Mary and Larissa as well. They blab about every fucking thing. Kitka will just get the charm I’m carrying around. She didn’t need to know the rest. The other girls could get some more of the juicy gossip if they were trustworthy. Not many were, though. Here I was going through each one of the ladies one by one, and even though I’m surrounded by these girls each and every day, I’m realizing just how alone I actually am.

  After the fight last night, the mood is definitely sourer than before. The men grunt acknowledgments at me, and some look as if they could snap at me at any second. I quickly dart out of the common area (where they sip their beers and talk about the day’s assignments) and over towards the kitchens where the ladies hang out when they aren’t on duty or back at their apartments above the warehouse.

  “Well, look at what the cat dragged in,” Larissa squeals as she sees me.

  “More like who the cat tore apart, spat out, and threw back.” Mary laughs. “What the fuck happened to you? You look like shit.”

  “Thanks. It’s great to see you, girls, too,” I reply deadpan. “I’m fine. Just hungover and tired.”

  “You’re pretty beat up over there. I can see those knees of yours got some work.” Mary winks at me, and I’m about ready to rip her eyeball out.

  “Leave her alone,” Kitka says as she appears in the doorway. “A skinned knee doesn’t mean she got the job done.”

  “Pay up.” I smile as I reach into my purse and retrieve Bear’s charm. “He gave it to me himself.”

  She looks at me slightly impressed. “I honestly thought you wouldn’t go through with it. But then again, you would do anything, wouldn’t you?”

  “What the hell does that mean, Kitka?” I shout at her.

  “Oh, just that some girls, like you, don’t really know when to stop.”

  “You’re the one that egged me on and made the bet with me.”

  “But you’re the one who slept with the enemy, Sunday.”

  She has a point, and I fucking hate her for it. I didn’t have to let my pride get in the way, but there’s something about Kitka that could drive me to punch a wall with my bare knuckles. The fact that she looks at me like I’m the guilty party is something else.

  I’m about ready to explode, so I hold out my hand for her. She pulls out a stack of cash from her back pocket and begins to count out the twenty dollar bills. As she hands me the last one, she places her hand around the stack and says, “There’s one more thing, Sunday. There are some rules you need to know about before you go anywhere.”

  “What rules?” I ask, not believing a word that comes out of her scummy mouth.

  “Don’t worry. I talked to Killer about this already. Girls who sleep with other club members have to take a bath... to wash the dirt off of them.”

  “A bath? So what. I’ll do that at home before the party tonight.”

  “Oh, tsk tsk. I wish it were that easy.” She laughs as she throws back her black hair. “But this bath has to be in public. In front of all us girls and whoever walks through here so we can see you really get that Wilderkind scent off of you.”

  “You’re fucking kidding,” I say. I’ve never heard of this rule in my entire time at the club. Then again, none of the other girls have ever slept with a member of another club. There’s really no point in arguing if Killer’s approved of this, but I’m not about to just go along with Kitka’s plan so easily.

  Kitka slides her way up to me, inches from my face, as she whispers, “No, I’m not fucking kidding anyone. It’s your fault you acted like a little slut, and now you’ll pay.”

  “You did this, Kitka. I get that now. You set this whole thing up to get me in bad with the club. You bitch.”

  “And you fell for it.” She smiles before turning around to the rest of the group who are practically salivating at our fight. “Ladies! Let’s get the tub! It’s gonna have to be a big one for a girl like Sunday.”

  They bring out an inflatable kiddie pool the club uses for the occasional mud wrestling match and fill it wi
th the hose from the back. For kicks, the girls use dish soap for bubbles and toss in a few toys they find around the back. When everything’s ready, Mary walks over to me and says, “You need me to help you with those clothes or...”

  This is it. This is my breaking point. I can get hazed by Kitka with tears in my eyes, or I can take it like the kickass woman that I am and do it my way. With my head held high, I remove Bear’s borrowed shirt and my dress from last night. I fold each carefully on the chair before removing my panties and bra next. The girls stare at me as I calmly walk over to the pool, dip my toe in, and then force myself to sit in the knee deep, freezing water. Only once I’m in do they force themselves to laugh.

  “Scrub,” Kitka commands as she throws me some hand towels from the kitchen.

  The first of the guys walk in moments later. Some chuckle and keep moving, while the more pervy ones watch me from the chairs around the kitchen prep area. No one says a word in my defense, not even Ricco who looks smugger than Kitka at my punishment.

  Luckily for me, the bubbles the girls tossed in keep me well concealed. I don’t break my gaze from the crowd as I use the towel to wash and scrub at every bit of my body. I don’t want to risk Kitka making me do it over again. When it’s time to wash my hair, I ask for a bucket of clean water, and Mary turns up at my side with a pale much warmer than what I’m sitting in. I have her pour it over my head, and to my surprise, she doesn’t just dump it on me. She sprinkles it over me, allowing me to run my hands through the tangles and add a layer of soap to it. When she’s done, she throws me a look that’s a mixture of pity and friendship—an expression I’ve never imagined Mary could make.

  I sit in this stupid fucking tub for about an hour until I suspect each and every guy has had a chance at seeing the show. It’s not until Cobra and Killer walk through that I know my time is done.

  “Get her out,” Killer whispers to Kitka. His stoney face is unreadable, but part of me thinks that he’s not terribly impressed by what’s going on.

  The men clear out quick, and the girls go to look for a clean towel. While I sit waiting, Killer leans over me and coughs before speaking, “You look beat up. Did that bastard do something to you?”

  Whoa. I am totally shocked by this. Kitka is too. He’s not a man of many words, and the words I’ve heard him utter haven’t been pleasant. But there’s a hint of caring in his voice.

  My own trembles as I answer, “No. He didn’t do anything. This was... I fell.”

  “If he did...”

  “He didn’t. It wasn’t a big deal.” Yikes. I know that’s a mistake as it slips out of my mouth.

  “What you did last night was a fucking big deal, whether you think so or not, Sunday. You’re not gonna forget it, I suspect.”

  I doubt I—or any member of the Filth and Butcher—will ever forget the day I slept with Bear.

  Chapter 6 - Bear

  “What the fuck is wrong with you, Bear? You look like shit. That little piece give you a run for your money?”

  “What?” I ask, my mind somewhere far away from the Wilderkind meeting room. I process Jake’s words slowly until it dawns on me what he’s trying to say. After a second, I growl back, “No. It was fine. I’m fucking exhausted and still beat up as hell from the fight. Can a guy recover?”

  “No,” he responds, slapping my back with a loud crack. “You’ve got no time off this week, Bear. With the Filth and Butcher circling, I need you on watch at the neutral territory. I don’t want to hear any shit about them trying to poach any more territory back from us.”

  “That’s grunt work. I ain’t doing that. Make one of the initiates do it.” I go back to sipping my whiskey. No one, not even Vance, can tell me what the fuck to do today. I get my time to enjoy being the winner for a few days.

  “Did you question me?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.

  I shake my head as I continue, “I don’t get why you think I’d do that shit. I haven’t had a fucking day off in weeks, boss. After last night, I thought you’d lay the hell off of me.”

  “‘Lay the hell off of you?’” he sneers. “You think I fucking give a rat’s ass about when you got your last day off or what you did last night. All I know is that you screwed some chick you shouldn’t have and started shit bigger than you know. So no, I’m not gonna ‘lay the hell off of you.’”

  “What does bedding the Filth and Butcher chick have anything to do with it? You and Killer both agreed to the price. If you had a problem then, you should have said something!” I shout while rising to my feet. I am not interested in mind games tonight. If someone has a beef with me, they say it to my face. Pussyfooting around the subject was the sure way to get your teeth knocked in—even if you are my club’s president.

  “Did you really think you could get away with that? That girl you plucked was Killer’s girl. She was a newbie property. The boys in her club are seething. And now you’ve gone and got a target on your back the size of Texas.” He walks closer to me, adding, “And that’s not to say what the boys here now think of you.”

  “I don’t give a shit what they think of me. It was my decision. I did what you asked me to do, and I took what was owed to me.”

  “That don’t matter, kid. How many fucking times do I have to get it through your head that you’re part of a MC? You ride with us. You die with us. There’s no ‘you’ in that equation. Whatever you do, you do it for the fucking club.” He smiles with that sadistic grin as he drops the hammer, “And tonight, you’re going to the damn neutral zone and making sure your club is protected. End of discussion.”

  I fucking hate being talked to like I’m a teenage girl home late from the dance. I didn’t sign up for Vance being my mommy when I decided to join up with the Wilderkind. Back when I was some piss-poor fighter living on the floor of my boxing gym, I had more freedom than I did now. It was Vance who promised that I would be rich, I would have a family, and I would be able to do whatever the fuck I wanted to do! And now that I’ve made the decision to fuck with a girl that’s not club property, the entire MC has gone mad over it.

  It takes everything in my power not to kick over the damn chairs or toss the tables out from under the fuckers that sit there. I know when I’m being punished, and this is punishment. If Vance wants me to work, like do actual real work that’s part of my skill set, I will be riding security for him tonight—not this patrolling neutral parts of the city for the rest of the afternoon and evening.

  Still, I can’t argue. As much as I know when I’m getting shit on, I also know when to shut my goddamn mouth and just bare it. I crossed the line when I stood up to Vance. He is, after all, the president of my club and the one who makes the decision on if I eat tomorrow. He could turn the rest of the guys on me, if he hasn’t already, with a click of his fingers. Then where would I be? Back to living on the streets or, worse, dead in some gutter. That’s the reality here. It’s fucking bitter, but I gotta know my place and when to stand down.

  Luckily, my shift passes quickly. The neighborhood I’m assigned to is basically a ghost town except for a few nail places, a barber shop, and a few dead bars where only a few of the old timers go to drink the day away. I spend most of my time hanging out on one of the corners where I’ve got the best advantage point of the dealers and hawkers standing outside. None of them are loyal to either club, which is exactly what we’re looking for. Neutral stays neutral when the businesses are independent.

  I chat with one of the dealers I recognize, Old Anthony, who has been selling dope on this street for God knows how long. Because he’s harmless and small-time, no one messes with him. Unlike the younger guys who bring in big stocks from the Mexican cartels, we don’t try to poach him—and that makes him valuable. He sees things that only someone riding in the gray can.

  “What’s shaking, Bear?” he asks, stretching out his arm for a friendly handshake. “I haven’t seen your sorry ass around these parts in over a year. Your Wilderkind sends these tiny young guys out here who think they own the plac
e. It’s nice to see a friendly face.”

  Friendly face? That’s bullshit. No one in his right mind would call me a friendly face. I keep a pretty tight reputation between these parts as being as terrifying as I need and want to be. The owners of the shops here and around my area would rather avoid me altogether than talk to me. This crazy ass embraces me like someone’s long-lost cousin.

  “Not much, my man,” I reply as I take a seat next to him on the rickety old ramp to one of the closed-down business. “What’s going on? You got any info for me I should know?”

  “You know me. I keep my nose out of everyone’s business.” He leans in closer to me and adds, “But, I hear you got yourself messed up in some shit yesterday.”

  “You could say that,” I mutter. Great. Even the lowlife pond scum knows about the girl and me.

  “If it were me, and it’s not... I’d keep my eye on my own boys. There seem to be more rumblings from them then the Filth and Butcher. I’d watch your back, Caesar.” Old Anthony rubs his neck and then looks out at the clear street. “I’ve seen a lot of guys get caught up in their own club’s drama because of their pride. That is, I’ve seen them not come back. You know what I’m saying?”

  “I hear ya, man. I hear ya.” His warning is enough for me: keep my head down, my nose clean, and my mind on my money. No more messing with chicks like Sunday. Show club loyalty and earn back whatever trust I lost by messing around with her. That’s all I can do to survive and get my place back in the club on the right standing.

  My phone buzzes at my hip and I move away from Anthony to take it. As I suspected, it’s Vance again, probably with another bitch-level job for me to do.