Size Queen: A Motorcycle Club Biker Romance (Size Matters Book 3)

by S. C. Adams

  “The Hell-Snakes were shooting at us. They are all to blame, and they will all pay.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” I say slowly. “Right now, I only care about getting my bike back in working order. I want my chariot back up and running strong for when I mow down all of these pieces of shit. Hope you’re ready to make our dads look like Boy Scouts. Our names will be the ones you hear over the waves.”

  Kace looks at his watch before informing me, “We need to head back to the clubhouse. They’ll be waiting.”

  I decide to drive us both in my classic Camaro that I had parked over in this garage. We coast quietly for a while before Kace finally breaks the silence.

  “How are we going to approach the guys?” he asks. “There’s a lot of anger. They want the Hell-Snakes to pay now.”

  “They will pay soon,” I say. “That fire was bound to attract a lot of attention. We don’t want more eyes on us as we go forward. We let things cool down—no pun intended—and when we don’t have eyes on us, we’ll move on them.”

  “Do you think anyone else other than us or the Snakes saw anything that happened?” Kace wonders nervously. “I didn’t notice anyone else around—did you? Shit, come to think of it, if no one saw it, it really would be their word against ours, wouldn’t it?”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask. “You’re getting too antsy.”

  “Couldn’t Wright or any of his guys just claim that you or one of us committed arson and burned their place down?” Kace ponders. “I didn’t notice any cameras…”

  “There were cameras in there,” I inform him. “I got a look around when I went to talk to Wright alone. Who knows if they were on or even working.”

  “We’re fucked,” he laughs. “They’ll see the video of all of us going into their place, guns and blades out, and see the fire… We’re going to jail.”

  “Kace—”

  “I thought I’d go to jail for something big like robbery or… maybe murder of some degree,” he continues. “I can’t believe this. We’re so fucked.”

  “We are not fucked,” I say without real certainty. “You need to chill the fuck out before we get back to the clubhouse, dude. The guys can’t see you like this. We can’t build paranoia right now. Things are already bad enough as they are. No one’s going to jail. We’re fine.”

  “I’ll ask the whole group separately whether they know who started the fire,” says Kace. “I’m with you. I think it was them, but we need to know for certain.”

  When we get back to the clubhouse, I have Kace go in ahead of me, telling him I have to make a call. Really, I just want a moment alone.

  Truthfully, I’m as worried as Kace is. But I know that I have to wear a much braver face than the one I’m wearing right now. I just can’t get over the idea of Tom or any of his gang going to the police. Gangs never typically involve the police at all, but then again, gangs don’t typically burn down their own clubhouses with all their shit still in them.

  I decide to go through with what I said I was actually going to do. I find Noelle’s number, realizing that her voice would actually be quite the antidote to the poison I can feel coursing through my veins.

  Unfortunately for me, she doesn’t pick up. This is unusual for her—she usually answers before the second ring concludes—so I take this as a sign. I can’t detain myself any longer, and I would be doing my longtime friends and companions a disservice by keeping them waiting any longer. I’m hoping in the time it takes for me to walk from the parking lot to the entrance, I can come up with a plan.

  11

  Noelle

  I get myself into a nice, satisfying routine of work, working out, and sex with Damon. For a week straight, from sunrise until late at night, I was productive and crossing into realms that I was unaware existed.

  I’ve never known a man quite like Damon before. Soft yet aggressive, stern yet timid, chill and yet so hot… I always feel lucky whenever we spend time alone together, and luckily, I’m able to see him every day. Being a businessman and gang head hasn’t removed his desires of the flesh, and he always allows more than enough time to properly fulfill both of our needs…

  The week was over in what felt like a blur (I was having more than enough fun, so time felt meaningless). No amount of time was enough for us whenever we were together, so this only made the times apart more exquisite. The anticipation was already brewing nicely, and it was promising a steamy, sexy weekend.

  Then of course, Saturday morning rolls in, and I feel nauseous and sore. I’ve been feeling a little funny over the last couple of days, but I didn’t think much of it. I was usually in a hurry to a shoot or still in bed with Damon whenever my mornings would start lately.

  On this day, with no work and waking in my own bed alone, I’m able to fully absorb the sick. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this.

  Hmm… Cramps, queasy, aches, feeling more tired… add in some vomit sessions and I could swear I’m showing early symptoms of pregnancy…!

  I derail the train of thought before it gets too out of hand. Although, it was on the tracks long enough to cause worry. So, instead of allowing my nerves to get the best of me and add more to my miserable morning, I decide to get out of bed and take a pregnancy test just to know for sure.

  I don’t know if it’s the sick already in me waiting to expel out, or if the foul smell from the kitchen garbage is the catalyst strong enough to pull it right out, but either way, by the time I get the pregnancy test from the bathroom and get a drink of water, I’m throwing up and unable to stop.

  I feel so weak after just a few seconds. I plop myself down right on the kitchen floor to proceed my upchucking. I write it off as me just feeling sick, but each time I try to stand myself back up, it’s a chore. Getting up out of the floor seems as difficult and objective as scaling a mountain.

  This shouldn’t be so hard… maybe I’ve got food poisoning…

  The false hope I’m chewing on gives me the strength to stand back up (while stifling my vomit). I waddle my way to the bathroom where I proceed to pee on my stick to await the results of my pregnancy test.

  Nervous doesn’t begin to describe my feelings. My period still has yet to start, and we didn’t wear condoms every time… On the times we went without, he always pulled out. But you don’t have to be a doctor to know that the pull-out method isn’t always totally effective…

  A minute passes, but it feels like an hour. I know that the tests always take a few minutes to register correctly, but I wish the results were more immediate. I wonder if any woman has ever had a heart attack during the waiting time in fear of the worst-case scenario.

  Not only am I ill-equipped to be a parent, but I can’t picture someone like Damon being a father. He’s not just a confident biker who has things his way—he’s in charge of a dangerous gang of other bikers who are probably much less civilized than their suave leader. I’m still unaware of the full scoop of Damon’s “club life,” and I’m intent on keeping it that way. But having a child with him would seriously complicate… everything.

  Two minutes pass, and still no answer. Would I even tell Damon if I was pregnant with his child…? How can someone in that life be a responsible parent to any baby, much less his own? Or what if things went bad and he wanted custody of the baby and got it because he’s well-known in Florida?

  I can’t stop weighing theoretical situations. As I stare down at the test hopelessly, sure of the outcome, I begin to tear up. I cry, teardrops falling on the test.

  My dreams of modeling are done. If I’m pregnant, I can’t model anymore. If I’m out of the game for even a few months, it’s going to be damn near impossible to get back in. I could only hide it from the agency for so long…

  If I’m pregnant… don’t panic. Don’t break things off right away with Damon and make him suspicious. Slowly break it off and figure out the best place to raise my child.

  I can’t tell Damon I’m pregnant… I can’t raise a b
aby in a toxic world like that. Maybe I’m not pregnant—I could be freaking out for nothing…

  But I’m not freaking out for nothing. The test finally presents its results. I don’t know why I’m in such shock. I knew I was pregnant before I even peed on the stick.

  I’m lost in thought for hours over my life-changing revelation, wondering, among hundreds of other things, what to do next. Soon it all becomes too overwhelming for me to handle alone.

  Although it’s her day off as well, I have to call on Sabrina. By midafternoon, it’s feeling less hot outside, and I’m able to move about comfortably, so I decide to test my stamina and head out for some fresh air.

  Sabrina and I meet at one of our usual spots near the big pier in South Beach. She can tell that I’ve been crying, which instantly breaks the dams holding back my tears. I fall apart on her, barely able to verbalize in coherent sentences what all I’m now facing.

  I tell her about the pregnancy test coming back positive, that Damon is the father, and about how I’ve considered including him in the baby’s future. I cry and groan for what feels like hours, constantly getting the attention of those around us.

  We walk down the shore, letting the warm ocean sweep across our feet. Despite living in Miami for many years and being so close to it, I often take the beach for granted.

  “I thought about not telling you at first,” I say to Sabrina. “I mean, eventually you would have figured it out—”

  “Uh, bitch, you better tell me,” she snipes.

  “Hey, I did tell you. I wouldn’t have been able to hide it from you anyway. You’re my best friend.”

  “You better not ever hide stuff like that from me!”

  “Well, get ready to hear it all, then,” I say. “With all the hiding I’ll be doing from the agency and from Damon, I’ll need to do a lot of venting.”

  “So, you’re really not going to tell Damon that you’re pregnant with his baby?” she asks, disapproval lacing her tone.

  “I’m not sure,” I reply. “There’s a lot to think about.”

  “Yeah, he’s loaded and could actually take care of you two,” she says. “Is the only reason you’re thinking of not telling him because he’s in charge of the Rolling Heads?”

  “Do I need another reason other than that? What would you do if you got pregnant with Kace’s baby… would you tell him?”

  She laughs. “I would never get pregnant by a guy in a gang for starters.”

  “Hmph,” I whine. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

  “I think you should tell Damon that you’re pregnant,” she suggests. “The longer you wait, the more it’ll hurt. We both know you’re going to tell him at some point. Just do it now and rip the Band-Aid off.”

  “I don’t know if I want to raise my baby around gangs!” I cry. “Maybe he has a right to know. Or maybe it’s better for the child if I stay as far away from his gang as possible. I have to admit, maybe it’s the realization that I’m no longer ‘alone’ that I now feel wary about going back to Damon’s clubhouse. Can you imagine the kind of scandalous shit that goes on that could potentially harm the baby?”

  “Yes, I can actually,” Sabrina quips. “I see your point, but just because you tell Damon you’re pregnant doesn’t mean he’s going to suddenly get controlling or try to pressure you into something you don’t want.”

  “Or, it could become exactly that,” I retort. “I don’t know that much about who Damon is as a person. He could just seem like a good guy because he’s been wanting to have sex.”

  “You’ll never know for sure until you take the leap,” says Sabrina. “It’s the right thing to do. Whatever the future might hold.”

  “I need you to promise not to say anything to anyone,” I insist. “You’re the only one who knows about this. Please keep this a secret—don’t say anything.”

  “Noelle, I won’t tell a soul,” she promises. “But you should tell Damon.”

  “I still need to figure out what I’m going to do and how I’m going to do it. I don’t mind being a single parent.”

  “I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself,” says Sabrina.

  “I mean, it’s not just things about the baby,” I continue. “You need to be a certain size and a certain weight in our profession. Do you think they would put me on the backburner for however many months I’d need? What happens if I lose my contract with the agency? Then what? Modeling is all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

  “Noelle, models get pregnant all the time,” Sabrina says, trying to calm me. “This doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re done with modeling. They like you! If you’re just straight with them from the beginning, they’ll probably understand.”

  “Or, I could become an afterthought and not get called again and then never find modeling work again,” I groan. “I can’t think of one story where a model’s career skyrocketed after a pregnancy. I think it’s over.”

  “No, nothing’s over,” she says reassuringly. “You’re done when you say you’re done. The agency is not going to fire you, and you aren’t going to hide being pregnant. That would just be asinine.”

  My best friend, seeing how upset and troubled I’ve become, puts a comforting arm around me. We stop and hug, putting the world on a brief pause.

  The world resumes when the sounds of the ocean are interrupted by the sounds coming from my pocket. My cell phone is going off, and I’m sure it’s Damon without even having to confirm it.

  By the time I pull my phone out of my pocket, it’s stopped ringing. I look at the screen: MISSED CALL – Damon Abrams

  “Did he hang up?” Sabrina asks after seeing the caller ID.

  “No, I didn’t pick it up in time. I wonder why he called…”

  Then my phone starts ringing again: Damon Abrams, once again. I’m surprised. Generally, Damon doesn’t call twice in a row like this.

  “Pick up!” Sabrina coaxes.

  “I can’t!” I hold my phone like it could literally blow up.

  I don’t answer. Damon’s call ends, and I instantly worry about a third call.

  “Why do you think he’s calling…?”

  “Answer and find out!” she says. “Call him back. This could be a good opportunity to tell him the truth.”

  “I’m not telling him I’m pregnant over the phone!”

  We both jump at the sound of my phone going off once again. This time, it isn’t a call; it isn’t a voicemail, either, like I was anticipating. It was a text:

  I was hoping to see you again, Damon’s text read. Are you free tonight?

  Without looking to my best friend for advice or guidance, I write back a quick and seemingly thoughtless text:

  No. Busy tonight, sorry.

  I’m aware that even as my text is sending, that this was only ending my correspondence with Damon for the day. This is far from the end, and I know that eventually I won’t be able to procrastinate. Until then, I’m going to enjoy the beach.

  12

  Damon

  I wanted to spend my Saturday night the same way I’ve been spending the last several nights: having incredibly hot sex with Noelle. I didn’t care at whose place it happened; I was simply desperate and longing to give her more of my loads.

  I called her twice, texted her twice… any more than that and it would reveal my desperation in an unflattering way. I don’t want to ruin such a good thing, so I play it cool.

  If Kace knew how dumb you were acting over a chick, you wouldn’t hear the end of it, I think to myself. Don’t text her again. Don’t drink and then text her. There’s no justification. Be a man.

  Instead of a night in with Noelle, I decide to make it a night out with the guys. I want to get the fuck out of Miami for a short while, and my boys are all on the same page. We set out to Tampa as the sun sets beside us.

  I want it to be a night out with the guys, yet thoughts of her—of Noelle—don’t stop coming. I pour shots and mixed drinks down my gullet like I’m dying of thirst. I keep hoping th
at my inhibitions will bend just enough that I’ll be able to forgive myself and hit Noelle up again…

  Kace and I are settling in at the Ice Palace, a favorite club of mine that serves excellent drinks guaranteed to fuck you up. I see a Rolling Head here and there, but for the most part the boys are all hopping around looking for women. Downtown Tampa is always guaranteed to get you fucked, too.

  Even with all the beautiful women that keep coming up to us and talking to me in particular, it doesn’t matter. I easily could have had my way with any number of the Tampa beauties, but I’m stuck in my head. The only woman I have my mind and heart set on is the one I’ve already had many times only days before.

  I don’t just think about the delicious qualities she possesses simply by having the body and confidence she has. I want to hold her, and not just in a way that would eventually lead to sex. I would give anything for her to just suddenly walk into the club. I know that’s impossible, though.

  “You okay, bro?” Kace asks through the club’s blaring music.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Kace scoots closer to me before replying a little softer, “You seem off.”

  “I’m probably stressed.”

  “Hey, we’re all stressed, man,” he says. “That’s why we’re in downtown Tampa. Destressing involves getting hot tail, brother. These honeys keep coming by and you’re barely even acknowledging their existence. What’s up?”

  “I have a lot on my mind,” I say defensively. “Word is spreading that someone from our club started the fire at their clubhouse. We all know that we’re innocent, but it’s not going to matter. It doesn’t matter what’s true; it’s about what can be proven to a jury. God knows if their cameras were working and what they picked up before the place got torched.”

  “They deserved that and more,” Kace says bitterly.

  “I agree, but we’ve got to keep our heads on straight. We’re being watched by more than just Hell-Snakes. We’re definitely being watched by police.”