Captive (11 page)

“Sarcasm: Just one of the many service I offer.”

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Knocking on my door wakes me up at the ass crack of dawn, well not the ass crack, but eight AM, and anyone that knows a biker knows that it might as well be. It doesn’t help that I don’t sleep for shit these days, that I drink more than I should, and I’ve fucked more than my fair share of women to try and erase the one that’s plagued me for the last four months. In particular the last three. But regardless of the amount of alcohol I consume, or the number of times I try to fuck away my memories of her, they’re all right there at the forefront of my sleep deprived brain pleading with me to beg her for forgiveness. Demanding it.

Swiping a pair of discarded sweats, and ignoring the stench of nasty perfume covering my sheets coming from the woman Ix picked up last night I stalk through the house intending to kill the motherfucker who dare to wake the bear out. It doesn’t take long to reconsider that position when I come face-to-face with a petite brunette, probably a little older than me, who is currently standing on my front porch like she owns it.

Who the fuck is she? I know for a fact she’s not a woman I’ve taken to bed, not because she isn’t hot in a I’ll-spank-you-for-being-naughty kind of way, but because my tastes lean toward women a good decade younger than me with blonde dreadlocks, a tight lithe body, and a face that still has me hard in seconds. And this woman is certainly none of that. Before I can get too caught up in trying to recall how I know her, her husky laugh washes over me.

“No we haven’t had the pleasure, or displeasure of meeting yet, so you can calm your farm Reaper. We don’t know each other, but we will. Very well by the end of my visit, or that’s what I’m expecting anyway. Now, I’ve driven a long ass way, and the least you can do is invite me in, offer me coffee, and I’ll assuage your curiosity as to who I am, and what I’m doing here.”

Direct, to the point, no nonsense, I like it.

“Right. Come through, I’ve got a feeling we’re both going to need a pot and a seat, yeah?”

“Clever boy. That we most assuredly will, but I’ve only got forty-five minutes, and the smell of skank isn’t to my taste, so I’ll be out of your hair after a cup and a chat.”

Chuckling I make my way into the kitchen with her close on my heals I start the coffee brewing, gesturing to the dining table and say,

“Pull up a chair, make yourself comfortable. How do you take it?”

“Black. Enough time spent around men that don’t restock essentials like sugar and cream will have you drinking it as natural as it comes,” she replies.

A hint, maybe. A warning, probably. Not that I needed a heads up this woman means business. The way she carries herself, the air of confidence, her sure stride is enough to clue me into that. Setting the steaming mugs in front of us I pull up my own seat at the head of the table, and eye her carefully.

She’s put together in a natural kind of way. Her hair shows no grey, it’s styled to suit her age and the shape of her face. Her clothes are good quality, but designed for long-term wear and tear, and her face is free of makeup.

“You can stop trying to work me out like I’m a puzzle for you to solve, Reaper. I’m not here to play games, and I definitely have no intention of hiding who I am, or why I’m here for that matter.” Taking a sip of coffee, blowing lightly across the rim she adds, “It won’t come as a surprise to you to say I’ve heard all about you from my son, and bits and pieces from the girl I consider to be my daughter. My son doesn’t sing your praises, but for some reason my foolhardy daughter sees fit to protect your sorry ass from me, and the rest of her family. Something they aren’t altogether understanding of.” Confusion knits my brow causing her to laugh again. Reaching out across the table she offers her hand, “My name is Emily Matthews, good to finally make your acquaintance, Max. I hope you don’t mind me calling you that. Road names aren’t necessary when we’re discussing matters that have nothing to do with the club,” she says challenging me with a raised eyebrow and satisfied smirk.

Fuck me sideways with a fence paling covered in rusty nails. Emily, as in Diesel’s mom, and Adelyn’s self-professed mother is sitting in my fucking kitchen at eight o’clock in the morning, drinking coffee like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do. What more could I wish for? On second thoughts I shouldn’t have fucking asked. I really shouldn’t.

“Who’s this, baby?” A whiny nasally voice I’m all too familiar with fills the air. Turning toward the disruption I begin mentally kicking my own ass.

Fucking hell. Not again. When will I fucking learn? Guess the answer is never, because this will be the fourth time I’ve fucked Beth in the last three months, and I’m still making the same mistake. The mistake would be letting her stay the night. No scratch that, it’d be fucking her in the first place, but hey what can I say, I’m nothing if not consistent in my fuck ups. Just ask Adelyn, she’ll attest to it.

I know what you’re thinking; I kicked Beth to the curb the day after I slept with Adelyn. And you’d be right, I did. At the time I never had any intention of touching Beth again, but one night she caught me in a weak moment, that being I was fucking drunk out of my skull, and I somehow ended up taking her up on her invitation to go home with her. Needless to say, shit happened, we fucked, I got my cock sucked, and I went home promising myself it wouldn’t happen again. The rest I’m sure you can work out for yourselves.

Like clockwork this bitch shows up every time I’m fucked up enough to take her up on her offers of quick, no strings sex. It’s not that I can’t say no, because I can. I just don’t want to. Anything to get the memory of Adelyn’s luscious body out of my head. The way she writhed beneath me. The feeling of her hands on my skin, in my hair, running across my back. The thing is, it hasn’t worked yet, and I’m starting to think it doesn’t matter how many times I fuck someone else, or how many people I use to try and replace those memories, it’s just not going to happen.

Worse still, if I found out Adelyn was doing the same thing I’d lose my fucking mind. It might sound hypocritical, but in the end men can detach emotion from sex, women can’t. And I know Adelyn well enough to know that she doesn’t give her body to just anyone, they’d have to mean something to her for her to fuck them. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone else that close to her, not that I have much of a say, but I won’t stand aside and let some other asshole get in her pants either. No asshole but me gets to touch her like that.

Before I can tell Beth to get dressed and leave Emily steps in effectively, and efficiently taking care of it for me.

“Good morning sunslut, up and at ‘em the day’s a wasting. Take off the man’s shirt, and kindly deposit it in the laundry hamper as you scurry around to find what I’m sure will prove to be a delightful outfit fit for royalty at a two dollar whorehouse. It would also be greatly appreciated if you’d consider stripping the bed of the sheets covered in skanks-r-us perfume, I’m thinking my daughter won’t take too kindly to rolling around in last nights’ leftovers. Now, if you’d be so diligent as to comply with those requests I won’t have any need for this,” Emily says placing a 9mm semi-automatic long barrelled Barretta on the table beside her coffee cup like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

I knew this woman was tough, but a badass no. She’d give ninety percent of the brothers in the club a run for their money with her calm demeanour, and the promise to carry out her threats in her eyes. If I wasn’t irrevocably in love with her daughter I might’ve considered changing things up, but lucky for me I’m stuck on the petite blonde because this woman may prove herself to be more than a handful for even me to handle.

Scurrying off like Emily predicted she would Beth leaves to carry out her tasks as requested, without a word of protest. Turning to Emily I’m finding it hard to close my mouth, which I’m sure is gaping. Not a particularly manly reaction, but I figure under the circumstances the guys will let me keep my man card, just this once.

“Oh son, haven’t you read the constitution? It states clearly the right to bear arms, obviously you haven’t spent enough time around my Adelyn she bears at least three of the buggers at all times. Lucky for you she must like you for some reason still unbeknownst to me, or she’d have shot you in the balls by now. My girl’s a crack shot you know. Or maybe you didn’t. Anywho, not why I’m here, and we’re running short on time after that delightful interlude with your latest fuck toy, so let get down to it shall we.”

I inline my head offering her the only response I can formulate,

“Sure, have at it.”

“I believe I will Max, brace yourself because this is going to be fast and hard.” I laugh, but it’s more out of nervousness than humour. I’m fucking scared shitless she’s going to tell me she’s here because something’s wrong with my Angel. My heart beat a staccato rhythm in my chest, and my palms are sweating profusely. I deserve to feel like this, to feel fear so dire that I don’t know if I’ll be able to take my next breath. I deserve everything this woman, the one sitting in fron to f me serves me, and more. Much more.

I’ve been nothing but a heartless prick since finding out she’s carrying my baby. I’ve ignored her, had her followed, told anyone that’d listen what a bitch she is, I spread that shit far and wide with no regard for anyone but myself. And if that wasn’t enough I’ve verbally abused her, not once, but twice. Accused her of shit she hasn’t done, shit she shouldn’t be accountable for. I took my hurt, my anger, my pain at losing her before I even really had her out on her, and I made it clear I think she’s worth less than nothing.

“As you know I found my precious girl a few days old, cold, alone, starving, and strung out in a dumpster not far from my home. I took her to the hospital. I stayed with her. I prayed for her, harder than I’ve prayed for anything, and I still do every night. In the beginning I prayed she’d live, that the sweet, tiny little thing I fund would wake up in the morning. When she did I started praying CPS would let me keep her, raise her as my own. Diesel was only seven at the time, and was absolutely smitten with her. He came to the hospital with me every day, stroked her hair, told her stories, told her about all the things he would teach her if she could come home with us, unfortunately I couldn’t make that a reality, and along with losing the little girl that had captured part of my heart, I had to watch my son say goodbye to the closest thing he had to a sister.”

Taking a deep breath, keeping herself firmly in check Emily goes on,

“Not a day went by I didn’t think about her. Where she was. If they had found her a good home with loving people that would see how special she is. And every night I prayed that one day I would see her again. That I’d see her as a happy, grown, successful woman with a life and family of her own, but I didn’t get that prayer answered either.”

Tears spill over her lower lids and I ask barely controlling my own emotion,

“Can I get you anything?” It’s a bullshit question, she knows it, and I know it, but it’s all I’ve got right now.

Smiling lightly she replies,

“No thank you, I’m fine. I just despise remembering her pain, but it’s for good reason this time, so I’ll be just fine.” Clearing her throat Emily valiantly struggles on, and in the process breaks down the last of my resolve to stay angry at the woman I love more than life itself. “The night Diesel called telling me to get to the clubhouse immediately I thought one of the boys were hurt, I’d helped to raise a lot of them, so it was my worst fear come true to get a call like that from my son. I never expected to be faced with a malnutritioned, teenaged girl that looked like she’d been beaten within an inch of her life, and I certainly didn’t expect to recognise her as the baby I’d saved instantly either. That night, as the clubs doctor examined her while she was passed out I prayed harder than I had the night I first took her to the hospital as an infant. Do you know what I prayed for, Max?”

Shaking my head I say,

“No.” It comes out barely recognisable, much like I assume my Angel had been. And that’s the thought that finally obliterates my iron will. Tears course down my cheeks dripping unchecked on to my chest.

Unfazed by my show of emotion Emily answers,

“I prayed she would wake up. I prayed she would wake up and see she had people who would love and protect her until the end of time, longer if necessary. I prayed to God the daughter of my heart could move past the horrific damaged that animal had done to her body, her mind, her soul, and come back to us. Most of all I prayed that one day she would find a man that would recognise as instantly as I had how truly exceptional she is. How special, how much she has to offer the world. I prayed my baby would finally meet the person that would heal her heart, and that she would willingly let hold the fragile, delicate heart at the centre of her captive. I thought she’d found that in you, I was wrong. Dead wrong. The way she talked about you, how even though you did not go gentle with her she could see underneath all that leather and bullshit that you were a good man, a strong man, one that she could trust, I believed her assessment of you. I encouraged her to see where it led, if you could make her happy like she so desperately deserves. That was my mistake, and it’s one I intend to rectify immediately.”