Archangels MC: A Reverse Harem Romance (Bad Influence Book 2)

by Ivy Fox

  “She said her living with us is only temporary, too,” Michael tallies on, adding insult to injury. And the hurt look Cam gives him is probably similar to the one branded inside my chest with the thought of little bird wanting to leave our nest so quickly.

  That’s a good thing, Gabe. Her staying any longer will only complicate things.

  “The fuck?! When did she say that?”

  “This morning, back at the house, while you and Gabe were on the run for Uri. I mean, come on Cam. What did you expect? You didn’t actually contemplate she would be willing to raise her kid with a bunch of bikers, did you?”

  “Why the hell not?” Cam raises his voice again, not seeing how unrealistic his notion is.

  “You don’t think it’s a bit odd? I mean, how many women do you know that have three guys as roommates? She’ll think it’s weird if you even suggest it,” Michael continues, trying to kick some sense into our quixotic brother.

  “It’s not like it hasn’t been done before. I mean, I got a cousin up in California shacked up with five guys right now. Trust me, Hope living with the three of us is the least weird shit I’ve heard of.”

  There is a pregnant pause to Cam’s statement, even though it shouldn’t surprise me; his family is as unbalanced as he is. I love him, no doubt about it, but there is something odd about a man who enjoys reading romance novels. Every time we would head out on a month-or-so run, the guy would make us stop at a Barnes and Nobles store to buy his smut. It was always so embarrassing having to go to the checkout line with him. Still, he owned it. Always looking right as rain, proudly showing the books were for his personal enjoyment. Even tried to get me to read a few, but I nipped that shit in the bud. My size—and unwillingness to engage in normal conversation—makes me stand out enough on my own. Don’t need to be reading girlie books to make me look even more like a freak.

  “When you say shacked up, you mean like in a relationship?” Michael finally asks, intrigued with the prospect, giving Cam way too much credit for my liking.

  “I mean shacked-the-fuck-up! Even married the fuckers in Paris last year.”

  No way is that legal. Cam must be blowing smoke up our asses, even though he’s never been one to lie.

  “My mom had a ball with that news when she heard about it. She was always the black sheep of the family since she ran away with my dad at eighteen and all. A biker, no less. Mom’s side of the family was outraged she didn’t settle down with a proper southern lad like they wanted her to. They flipped their shit when she gave them all the finger,” Cam says proudly, not caring he’s revealing what a mama’s boy he is.

  “Aunt Sarah, though, was the total opposite of Mom. Fucking uptight as can be, and I thought little Freya was just as frigid. Guess she had a little bit of freak in her too. But she was raised in California, so you know those folks are crazy anyway. But still, my point is she’s with five guys, and if my math is right, I count only three of us.”

  I see Michael mulling over Cam’s family’s antics, and I don’t like that musing look in his eye. Ever since I let my guard down in that one shower incident, I’ve had to keep my eye on Michael. Cam’s not the only one who has been walking around the house with stars in his eyes. Hope’s gotten to Michael, too.

  You got us all wrapped under your spell, don’t you, little bird? Don’t even have to sing your song, for us to fall at your feet in wonderment.

  “I guess we can talk to her. I mean… just make her understand she doesn’t have to work herself to the bone thinking she’s overstepping her welcome back at the house any,” Michael suggests, and I fist my hands inside my pockets to prevent me from punching their heads together, knocking some fucking sense into them in the process.

  My brothers are in total denial. Hope shouldn’t be looking toward us to build back up her life. She deserves better than to be an ol’ lady of a messed-up biker. Because that’s exactly what we are. Screwed up in the head with enough heavy baggage of our own to clip her frail wings.

  I mean, look at us! We offer protection to anyone willing to pay the hefty fee, that’s what we do. We ride from A to B, months on end, and we care little about the contents of each truck that we deliver. As long as it isn’t women or children, we couldn’t care less either way.

  The trucks carry guns? Who gives a fuck? People have been killing themselves off for a millennia. As long as no one touches a brother, it’s no skin off our backs. So the truck is carrying guns, hell, so do we. Got a fucking great collection, too. Still, we’ll only point a gun at a fucker if he deserves it.

  Truck is carrying drugs, not our problem. If people want to fuck with their heads and bodies, it’s their own fucking prerogative. We don’t care either way. The only people that count are our family. The club is our family, everyone outside it can go fuck themselves.

  We’re not good men. Hope shouldn’t be looking at us as if we are, nor should she even put any weight on a suggestion from either Michael or Cam, in terms of thinking of raising a baby in the environment we bring. She isn’t thinking clearly if she doesn’t say no, straight off the bat, if they even breathe out such an invitation. I would assume that common sense has probably been beaten the fuck out of her if she sees us three devils and swears we are all the second coming. It’s not right, and it isn’t fair to her. We should just keep our traps shut and let her go on her merry way.

  “Everything alright over there?” I hear Uri ask, leaning on the door frame of the clubhouse. Fuck! I wonder how long he’s been out here? Or worse, what if he overheard Cam and Michael’s debate on how to keep Hope at our house. I was so wrapped up in trying to come up with something to get my brothers to start seeing things clearly, I dropped the ball where it was most needed—protecting them from their own foolish behavior.

  “We’re good,” I inform, hoping my stern voice is enough of an indicator that Uri shouldn’t trouble himself with whatever is happening in front of his clubhouse. Of course, I know better than to think I intimidate the man in any way. I might tower over him in size, but Uri would swiftly cut my balls with his switchblade before I even knew what hit me. Never seen a man work a knife like him. Well, aside from Michael, that is, but I guess he has his uncle to thank for that nifty trick, too.

  “Glad to hear it. So, if you pussies are all about finished braiding each other’s hair and all, church is about to start,” he dishes out, and all three of us start walking back into the clubhouse as he intends.

  “Talking about hair, did she cut it before or after you took her to town?” Cam asks, and it takes me a minute to catch up. I stop mid-step and place my hand on Michael’s chest.

  “Hope cut her hair?” I ask incredulously. Michael pats my hand, all brotherly, and nods.

  “Cut it last night while we three asses were snoring up a storm, I would assume. She looks good with it short, though. Lighter, even. I think it might have been cathartic for her to do it, too. I saw more smiles from her today than any combined this past month.”

  “Really?” Cam asks, and I see the daydream expression taking over once more.

  “Yeah,” Michael affirms. “But get that stupid goofy smile off your face before we enter church. Uri is going to be pissed enough as it is with you. Get your mind off Hope and on business instead. Something tells me it’s going to be a long-ass meeting.” He grunts and passes us both, leading the way as a good VP should always do.

  “Yeah, I figured as much. Come on, big guy, let’s get this party started so we can grab our girl and go home,” Cam says, and I’m too dumbfounded by his proclamation on Hope being anything to us, much less ours, to say a word back.

  The scream pierces through me, and I’m out of bed in seconds, running to Hope’s room. She’s at it again, thrashing away, probably trying to wave off whatever demon is chasing her. Every night it’s been like this. Every fucking night, the moment she closes her eyes, they come for her. The devils that lurk in the daytime, those I can protect her from, but the ones lingering in her subconscious, I have no way of de
fending her from those bastards.

  Still, I hate to leave her alone like this. She might not know it, but I’ve basically been sleeping on this grandma-looking chair since the night she arrived at our doorstep. She shouldn’t be alone when she’s this frightened, and she is. Whatever dream haunts her at night eats away at her bit by bit, feeding into her fear. Could it be she remembers what happened to her out in the woods? Is that what she relives every night? Watching someone dig her grave in front of her and then bury her alive? Fuck, I fucking hope not. But I doubt her nightmares are of the garden variety type.

  Every shriek she makes holds pain in each high note. This has to end. I need to think of something to make her feel safe. Not only when her eyes are wide open, but when she lies down to rest as well. All this anxiety can’t be good for the little one growing inside of her. There has to be something I can do to end her suffering. She’s bleeding out before me, and I am powerless to stop her hemorrhage.

  I pace the floor, thinking of anything, praying to a greater being than myself for some sort of idea, when I hear her start to cry. I’ve learned a thing or two about my little bird. She hates to cry, and her doing so—as a result of her agonizing dreams—breaks me into little tiny pieces. So I do the unthinkable. Instead of sitting at my usual nightly spot, I crawl up beside her, enfolding her in my arms, offering promises that everything will be okay. Her tears streak down my bare chest, but her waif-like arms hold onto my waist as if it’s the lifeline she anxiously waited for all along. In less than a minute, her breathing transforms from the hectic mess it was to a soft lullaby, finding a new dream to hold onto instead of the nightmare in her mind.

  I don’t get one wink of sleep the whole night through, and when I see the sun starting to graze the sky, I unlock myself from her tight grip, removing any hint she had company this night. Walking back to my room, I feel an emptiness that wasn’t there before. Her finding solace in my embrace did me more harm than good. I was weak to not keep my distance from her, even if she was in desperate need of comforting. I should be pleased I was able to give her that—a good night’s rest instead of the same troubled one she lives with night after night.

  But now I’m the one lying in this bed, cold and alone, missing her vanilla scent enveloping my senses. When I hold her tightly to my body, she fits my bulky frame to perfection. All soft and warm against my skin, promising me heaven if I just held her a little tighter. I should just close my eyes now and sleep the few hours I have left before I need to wake up and see what Uri has planned for me today. Still, the thought of doing my everyday tasks seem less appealing when all I really want to do is run back to her room and take her in my arms once more. Only this time, I would wake her up with my lips, breathing life back into her eyes with my own breath. I’d kiss those perfect full lips until she needed to gasp for air. And maybe not even then would I release her from my eager mouth—I’d be all the oxygen she would need. I’d fill her up with my own essence, making sure my little bird needed nothing but my worshiping kiss.

  Just imagining waking her up from her slumber with something as innocent as a kiss has my cock bulging, pleading with me to give him some attention, too. I lower my hand and imagine it’s her dainty feather-like touch on its silky head. My own breath falters as I roll my hand up and down my shaft, imagining her gentle touch. And then my imagination increases tenfold as I hear her velvety voice whisper my name.

  Gabriel.

  And that’s all I need to cum. With my name hushed out from her goddess-like lips, I fall off the ledge and momentarily lose sight of reality. My heart is drumming wildly inside my chest, and I count to ten to gain some form of control, but this little reprieve only begs for more. Not my hand, but the craving and need of having her by my side, freely giving herself to me. This is what I want. The only thing that will calm my tempestuous soul is her.

  Little bird, what have you done to me?

  Chapter 16

  Hope

  My lids open when I feel the morning sun on my face, telling me a new, promising day has begun. I don’t remember ever feeling this sense of accomplishment before, but yesterday, as I followed Mabel throughout the diner, serving your average customer coffee and pie, I felt a small sense of triumph—that I was closer to achieving what I promised myself.

  Independence.

  Freedom.

  I know it’s silly of me to think that a waitressing job could give me a sense of purpose. It’s not. But providing for my baby is. Showing him that his mother is a survivor, strong-willed and fearless, that’s my main goal in life. I don’t know why I always refer to my baby as him. Don’t know if I even wanted children in my past life, much less a boy. But in this life, Hope’s life, she wants this boy more than she wants her next breath.

  You and me, kid. We’re in this together now.

  I stretch out on the bed, feeling my limbs a bit sore from all the walking and standing from yesterday’s shift, yet I can’t help the smile that rises on my lips. This type of soreness, I’m grateful for. I rise up and pull my sheets over my chest the minute I see I’m not alone in my room.

  “What are you doing here, Gabriel?” I ask. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised since I know he usually spends his nights watching over me, but every morning like clockwork, when I wake up, he’s long gone. Probably thinking I wouldn’t feel his presence either way. But I always do. The fact he’s still here when I’m awake is surprising, and I am intrigued to learn what has motivated him to stay this morning.

  “What time do you have to clock in at George’s?” he asks, not answering my question.

  “I’m doing the afternoon shift. Only need to be there by one this afternoon,” I reply, licking my dry lips, wondering what this is all about. I almost see Gabriel’s eye follow my tongue, but it’s too fast a glance to know for sure.

  “Good. Get dressed, eat some breakfast, and meet me outside in thirty minutes,” he orders, standing up and walking to the bedroom door.

  “What? No please?” I chide, annoyed he thinks he can just order me about. I swear the guys in this house are in desperate need of an ear-pulling once in a while. I mean manners and all. Guess it’s probably a symptom of living so closed off from civilization, in the middle of the woods. Let’s not forget that the clubhouse they frequent also doesn’t require much polite behavior, either. Probably filled with foulmouthed ill-mannered bikers, too, with no female presence to keep them on their toes. I doubt Aurora has time to keep them all in check. Can’t do much about that, but I can discipline how they act in this house, at least. Well, as long as I’m living here, that is, however long that time may be.

  Gabriel stops mid-step, grasping his hand on the doorframe as if he is seconds away from tearing it down. He turns his head a little to the side and I get to fully take in his aggravated look, even though he’s trying damned hard to keep it at bay.

  “Please,” he says, and I’m glad he won’t make any eye contact, otherwise he would see how wide I’m smiling at how this mountain of a man can be brought to heel by little old me.

  “Better. I’ll see you in thirty, then,” I reply unemotionally. No need to make him feel more uncomfortable than he is with my gloating. He leaves the room and I quickly jump out of bed, anxious to find out what the brooding man has in store for me this morning. I grab the new pair of jeans and white t-shirt I bought yesterday and run a quick comb through my hair. Since it’s now short, it doesn’t take as long to condition it to a presentable state. I give myself a once-over in the mirror, satisfied that my skin no longer has any yellow markings to it. I walk briskly to the kitchen and see that none of my hosts are there. I look outside the window and check that neither Cam’s nor Michael’s bike is parked outside. The only thing out there is an anxious Gabriel, pacing back and forth on the porch. Forgoing my daily decaf, I grab a quick bowl of cereal and down it as if my life depended on it. Gabriel is not the only one who can’t keep his cool in check. After washing the bowl and leaving it in the sink, I open the screen door and put
my hands on my waist for dramatic effect.

  “So, what’s this about, Gabriel?” He looks over at me and I see his eyes stroll down my body from my wavy-like hair to the tip of my chucks.

  “You’ll see,” he remarks, and starts walking away from me in the direction of the backyard. I have no choice but to follow him, if I want any answers. His reluctance to look back at me is aggravating enough, but his constant silence, when I yearn to hear him talk, rubs me the wrong way.

  “You don’t like me much, do you, Gabriel?” I ask him, wanting desperately to be wrong in my interpretation of his feelings toward me.

  “I don’t know you,” he grunts out, still walking in front of me without giving me a second look.

  “Well, that makes two of us,” I reply sarcastically.

  “Hmm,” he murmurs, and it leaves me no clue as to what he’s thinking.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask, looking from side to side since we’re moving away from the house and into the forest behind it instead. I feel some tension travel its way all through my spine, yet I refuse to acknowledge it.

  “You’ll see soon enough,” he states, and my anxiety is no longer focused on his animosity toward me, but more to why he won’t tell me where he’s leading me to.

  “Gabriel! Where are we going?” I ask forcefully, stopping myself from taking one step further into the unknown. This time he looks at me, and there is a fleeting look of tenderness in his eyes when he establishes my hidden panic. He looks away from me again, determination now plastered on his face as he sways his foot from left to right, revealing a small grey handle bar on the ground. He kneels down and slides it to the side, uncovering what looks like a dark man-made hole beneath.

  “Gabriel? What’s down there?” I ask, showing how uncomfortable I am with this new revelation.

  “Freedom,” he replies. It’s the only word that flies from his lips, but the manner in which he says such a life-altering word makes all my worries disappear in an instant.