by Naomi West
He nodded to me. “Kaci.”
I glanced at Grin, smiling.
I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, threatening to spill from the corners and start ruining my mascara. I fumbled with the plain tungsten wedding band we'd gotten for Micah, but managed to slip it onto his finger.
I went to speak, but couldn't. There was just too much swirling around in my breast, and I had to search for my voice, for the words I'd written so many days before.
“Come on, girl!” shouted one of the bikers from down on the floor. “We got beer to drink!”
“Hey!” I yelled back, finding my voice pretty damn quick. “Give a lady a moment!”
The crowd burst into laughter and Micah grinned down at me, squeezing my hands in support.
I licked my lips as I looked back into his eyes. “Micah, you found me at my worst, at my lower point ever. You picked me up, you dusted me off, you made me whole again.”
My eyes began to water, began to swim as I watched his mist up.
“With this ring, I promise that,” I continued, “as you and I ride down this road we call life, I will never forsake you, will never abandon you, will never let you go. I will pick you up, I will dust you off, I will keep you whole.”
There, I'd said them. They were the truest words I've ever spoken. But, that's what love is, it's a kind of truth you carry in your breast. A kind of truth that can guide you to where you need to be, if you just let it. I'd been lost, acting wild and crazy. My love for this man had saved me.
And I knew in my heart of hearts that agreeing to marry Micah Marlow was the best, and smartest, decision I'd ever made.
I glanced to Grin, and nodded to let him know I'd finished.
“Micah? You ready, brother?”
# # #
Micah
I hadn't taken my eyes from Kaci since she walked into the bar, just like I hadn't been able to take my eyes from her since we met at the hotel.
I took the wedding ring and slipped it over her ring finger. Smiling, we glanced into each other's eyes as it slid down her slender finger and settled in place.
“Kaci, I'm a prick and everyone knows it,” I said, pausing for the hoots and hollers of agreement to die down a little bit. “My ego's so big I should probably have a wide-load sign when I ride down the highway.” More laughter from the crowd as I gripped her hands tighter. “But, since I met you, I realized something. For a woman so little, you sure know how to cut a big guy like me down to size.”
I watched as she blinked away tears.
“We've both lost a lot in our lives,” I said, my voice as even as I keep it. “But I know that your momma, your brother Rommy, my Grandpa Quentin, and even old Jaws Marlow are up there in Heaven-”
“Don't be so sure about where Jaws's cooling his heels!” cried a voice from the first floor, and the whole place erupted in cheers and laughter.
I turned back to the crowd, shouting, “Daddy's heels probably ain't cold, that's for damn sure!” The crowd roared as I turned back to Kaci. “Like I was saying, though. All our family's looking down, watching us, and hearing what we're saying. And I promise, as much to them as I do to you, you'll be my one and only ‘til the end of time. I'll be by your side as you look out at the sunset, and I'll be your companion as we ride through life. I love you, Kaci Sizemore. You're my ol' lady.”
The crowd cheered as I finished up my vows.
“Settle down!” Grin yelled down at the crowd. “We're almost done here, then we can get to the beer and brown liquor!”
More cheers of agreement, that soon quieted themselves.
“Love's a goddamned beautiful thing!” Grin exclaimed. “And, by the power vested in me by the God’s Hellfire MC and the State of Louisiana, I pronounce y'all biker and wife! Now kiss that bride!”
The whole bar erupted in cheers and roars of approval as I pulled Kaci into my arms and kissed her. We pulled back, both grinning up into each other’s misty eyes.
“Folks!” Grin called from beside us, his voice barely rising above the thunderous roar of the assembled guests. “May I present to you . . . Mr. and Mrs. Micah Marlow!”
Needless to say, things kinda devolved from there. Bikers love a good wedding. And the best biker weddings are the ones where the owner of your favorite bar's the one getting hitched. The party kept rocking late into the night.
As we mingled with the crowd down below, and Gov, Sydney, Kaci, and I did a round of shots to celebrate, we got a real surprise. And the best wedding gift ever.
“Congratulations, guys,” said a familiar voice.
We all turned around from our spot at the bar.
“Well, well, well,” I said, grinning as I looked the out of place visitor up and down. “Agent Avery Brumfield. Just slumming, or are you here on business?”
“Little of column A,” she said, smirking, “little more column B. Got good news, and I figured you'd like it in person. Petrov Arms is finished, and Efraim's going down with it. Just got confirmation that, after he's charged here, they're sending him to the International Criminal Court. He's going down for War Crimes, guys, and we got you four to thank.”
Gov cheered and clapped his hands. It was the most excited I'd seen him in months. “Well, this calls for an even bigger celebration!” He reached behind him and grabbed the bottle and an extra shot glass. He poured another round, including one for our favorite FBI agent.
“To never having to fucking work with you again, Agent Brumfield,” I said as I held the shot up in toast.
“Here, here,” she agreed, with a wink.
Together, the five of us downed our shots and tried to put the past that much further behind us.
Chapter Forty – One Year Later
Kaci
I don't why I thought it was a good idea to have an outlaw biker's baby, but I had. “Goddammit, Micah! You can't take me to the emergency room on the back of your fucking bike!”
“What?” he asked, his eyes frantic and wild as he looked up at me, his foot hovering where it was just about to stomp down and start up his chopper. “Oh, fuck! I'm sorry, babe!” He hopped off the bike and fumbled for his keys as I waddled around to the passenger side of his Camaro SS.
He let me in and I settled into the passenger seat while he threw all our stuff in the trunk. Soon, he was hopping into the driver seat. He started up the car and threw it in reverse.
“Garage door, honey,” I said before he slammed his foot down on the gas.
“Shit,” he said, shaking his head. He punched the garage door button.
He threw the car in reverse as soon as it was safe, then laid down some burnt rubber as he took for the hospital. As he drove he peppered me with a thousand questions, all of them sounding frantic from the way he asked them. How close were my contractions? Did I need anything? Were the bumps too much for me?
“Micah!” I finally said, cutting him off. “Chill. The. Fuck. Out. We're having a baby, not trying to take down a Russian mob boss here. Just get me to the damned hospital, and we'll be fine. Okay?”
He reached down, grabbed my hand.
I squeezed the living shit out of it as I felt a contraction.
“We're gonna be fine,” I reminded him. “We're gonna be great parents, okay? Like we never had.”
“Yeah,” he said, finally, still wincing from my hand squeeze. “Yeah, you're right.”
# # #
Micah
As I looked into little Romeo Quentin Marlow's eyes, I realized that this was the dividing point in my life. The point where I'd be able to someday look back and point at it and say, “That's where I changed.”
My wife touched my side as I held little Rommy. “He's got your eyes,” she said.
“You think so?” I asked, grinning like an idiot as I turned to her. “He's got your nose, that's for damn sure.”
“The Sizemore nose,” she whispered, reaching up to tug at his toes.
I wouldn't be going back to work for a little while. Rommy's godfather Gov
could hold down the shop, there. After all, we were just selling used cars. Wasn't like we were running guns, or anything.
But, still, as I looked down into my son's half-closed eyes, I knew that the road ahead was gonna be rocky.
“Shit,” Kaci groaned from the bed, pulling me from my thoughts.
“What?” I asked, worried that something was really wrong.
“Just realized we're gonna have to do PTA.”
Even with all the shit this boy's momma and I'd pulled off in the past, the future held the biggest challenge we'd ever faced: being ex-outlaw parents.
THE END
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CONTROL: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Blackened Souls MC)
By Naomi West
I REFUSE TO REST UNTIL SHE’S UNDER MY CONTROL.
New girl in town means fresh meat for the taking.
One and done is my usual motto… but this one is different.
Taking her once won’t be enough.
I need her screaming my name, obeying my commands… and carrying my baby.
She looked like a fish out of water when she wandered into my town.
Said she was new around here…
But all I heard was “Take me, please.”
Your wish is my command, princess.
I’m the man who will ruin her for all others.
Cocky as hell? Yeah.
Hotter than that? Damn straight.
And I’m more than ready to take this angel for a ride.
But there’s more to this girl than meets the eye.
Turns out she was the bait in a trap I never saw coming.
I’m a lone wolf, not a breeding stallion.
But her father has other ideas.
And with a gun against my head, what other choice do I have?
Sleeping with Katrin is just the beginning of things.
Before I know it, there’s a wedding on the horizon.
And my baby growing inside her belly.
I guess this is what happens when you lose control.
Chapter One
“You’re killing me, Pistol.” The woman in the white tank top ran a hand through her thick, platinum blonde curls and stuck her ample chest out a little. “Sure you can’t just patch it?”
Jax “Pistol” Wilson straightened to his full height of six-foot four inches, forcing his gaze up from the woman’s chest to her face again. He wiped his hands on a greasy rag and then flashed the woman — Peggy? Patty? Something with a P — a grin. “Gotta be replaced. That crack’s too deep and too wide. The whole thing could fall in on you if you so much as hit a pothole.”
Her expression was exaggeratedly horrified. “Jesus. How much is it gonna run me?”
Pistol leaned against the woman’s bright yellow Mustang, broad, tattooed arms folded across his chest. He glanced at the web of cracks in the windshield. “Depends. Anywhere from two hundred to a thousand.” He could feel Deion eyeing him. They’d never done a windshield replacement for more than four hundred.
The woman sucked in a breath, and Pistol met her pretty blue eyes once more. He recalled a wild night last year — the two of them, half drunk, fully loaded, soaking her twelve hundred thread-count sheets in their mutual sweat. “Shit.”
He tossed the rag aside. “Tell you what. I’ll try my damnedest to make sure you’re not looking at more than three hundred.”
Peggy-Patty’s face positively lit up. “Omigod, Pistol, that would be incredible.” She had a hot smile—full lips stretching back to reveal gleaming white teeth. Pistol almost wished he could recall the details of their encounter. Had those straight, perfect teeth latched onto his skin? Had her long pink nails raked down his back? Had she screamed his name? Probably. They all did.
She couldn’t seem to keep her gaze off his chest. His once-white sleeveless shirt was smeared with oil stains and clinging to him with the Texas humidity and was ripped in strategic places to show his ink.
He heard Deion snort, and tossed the fucker a glare.
He grinned back at the woman, unable to resist the temptation to flirt, even with a woman he’d already bedded. Hell, looking at her now, he was almost tempted to go in for round two. Except that wasn’t the way he played. And anyhow, she was a bit older than he liked them — had a kid who was in high school, he remembered suddenly, so she was likely in her late thirties. Still, she’d been a tiger in bed. Probably had some flabby-gutted loser of a husband who couldn’t give her an orgasm. Pistol was recalling more details—the way those firm, round breasts had bounced as she’d ridden him. Those legs that went on for days. His own deep growl as he came inside her…
Shit, he really was hard up if he was thinking about pissing on the same tree twice. But he’d made it with every available woman in this town. If Rialto didn’t get some fresh blood soon, he was gonna have to start going back for seconds.
“Pistol?”
Shit, she’d been saying something, and he hadn’t been paying a lick of attention.
“Yeah?”
“I’d really like to say thank you for this.” She nodded at the Mustang. “Maybe a drink sometime?”
Ah, shit. “Maybe sometime,” he agreed casually.
“You still have my number?”
Not a chance. “Sure. I’ll call you.”
“All right.” She winked at him. “Looking forward to it.”
He nodded, pulling a battered pack of Camels from the pocket of his worn jeans. He stuck a cigarette between his lips and tipped his head toward the car. “We’ll need a couple of days to replace that windshield. You got a ride home?”
“A friend’s picking me up. Well … more of an acquaintance. My new neighbor has a daughter — lovely young lady. We just met yesterday when she was moving in. She agreed to pick me up if the car had to stay in the shop.”
A lovely young lady, huh? How young we talkin’? He dug out his lighter and lit the cigarette.
Pistol didn’t go in for barely legal, but twenty and over, and he’d have to figure out a way to meet this girl. “New in town? Or just new to your neighborhood?”
“New in town. The father doesn’t say much, but he’s nice enough. The daughter — I get the impression she’s a bit lonely. Certainly was eager to talk to me.”
“She in school?” A neutral enough question. If Peggy-Patty was like,Yes, she’s finishing her junior year at MacArthur High, Pistol would know to quit sniffing around. But if this ‘young lady’ was at the University … fair game.
He got started on Peggy-Patty’s paperwork, trying to play nonchalant.
She didn’t answer, and he glanced up to find her eyeing him. “She’s a nursing student. Good Lord, you got a one track mind.”
He laughed and ashed his cigarette. “I didn’t say anything, ma’am. Just curious.”
“Ma’am?” She shook her head. “You’re making me feel like an old lady. Listen, I knew all about your reputation before I screwed you, but this poor gal’s still getting her bearings. Don’t go pouncin’ on her like a horny tom cat, you hear?”
Pistol wanted to ask what the girl looked like, but he had a feeling Peggy-Patty wasn’t about to give him measurements. “Fair enough.”
She looked him up and down, and her gaze rested just a little too long on his crotch. She shook her head again, a little ruefully, but with an amused smile tugging her lips. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth, Pistol Wilson.”
He grinned and dragged on the cigarette as he went back to work. He tried to keep an eye on Peggy-Patty so he could see when her ride came, but he got distracted doing some detail work on a Chrysler and trying to ignore Deion’s whispered jibes. Deion was his — well, it wasn’t like he had best fr
iends; he wasn’t a fucking thirteen-year-oldgirl— but his closest pal. They were both members of the Blackened Souls Motorcycle Club, working at J&J Auto by day, going out on whatever missions Kong had assigned them by night.
“You fucked her, didn’t you?” Deion whispered.
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” Pistol muttered around the cigarette, trying not to smirk.
“Aw hell. How old is she? Forty? Forty-five?”
He pinched the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger and blew out a stream of smoke. “Jesus, she’s thirty-two if she’s a day. Look at the rack on her.”