Lady & The Biker (Royal Bastards MC) Read online

  “What’s worse than death?”

  “You’re exposing me to secondhand smoke and I’m just a kid.” She falls back on the covers and sighs with a hand to her forehead.

  I chuckle, blowing my smoke out the window.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Are too,” she sasses.

  My lips tug into a smile.

  God this kid and her mouth. I pity the poor soul who marries her one day.

  Chapter 2

  Easton

  “The fuck you mean I gotta keep watching her? You said you’d be back last night with ice cream. She won’t shut up about it. Goddamn.” I clutch my cell phone to my ear wanting to break the damn thing in half.

  “You owe me another quarter,” Wylla Mae chants.

  “Hush, brat. I’m on the phone.”

  “I’m not a brat.”

  “Are too,” I growl.

  “Jesus. Are you two done?” Murder snarls in my ear. “Listen, some shit happened with her mom. It’ll be a couple more days. You can handle a kid, can’t you?”

  “Christ. Days?” I hold my cell phone from my ear and glare at it. Putting it back to my ear I ask him again, “Days?”

  “Take her to your place. I’ll be over Monday.”

  “Monday,” I roar but the line is dead. He’s hung up already.

  “Let me guess. You gotta keep watching me.” She blows out a breath that has her bangs flying up.

  “Shut up and eat your eggs.” I slather butter on my toast as Pam shakes her head at us.

  “Fatherhood looks nice on you, East.”

  “I’m not her dad. For fuck’s sake.” Clang. I drop the butter knife to my plate.

  “That’s another quarter,” Wylla Mae singsongs. Her voice is still raspy, but she has more color in her cheeks this morning.

  “Yeah well, we’ll take it off my fees.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Nothing. Pam, you seen Grudge around?”

  “No, why?”

  “Need a helmet for the brat.”

  “I’m not a brat. Yesterday you called me Lady.”

  “Fine.” I blow on my coffee. “Lil’ Lady needs a helmet.”

  “Stop calling me little.”

  Fucking hell my head is splitting. Kid is driving me nuts.

  “You’ve got your hands full. Never would have thought I’d see you handed your balls by an eight-year-old.”

  I scowl at Pam and drink my coffee.

  “East has balls? What kind of balls? I like to play with balls. Dodgeball is fun. I don’t like football or baseball. Soccer is okay. Mom wouldn’t let me play soccer. Said I’m too little, but I’m not even the shortest kid in my class. Bobby Miller is like this tall.” She holds a hand to her shoulder to demonstrate the Bobby kid’s height.

  I look to Pam, massaging the rough pads of my fingers over my temple. “You got any aspirin?”

  “Nope. Sorry.” She shrugs, loving every minute of my misery. I’m being punished. For what? Who the fuck knows? But I’ve somehow landed in hell.

  I scarf down my toast, thankful that the clubhouse is quiet and most of my brothers are still in bed, so I don’t have to catch hell for having a kid with me even if it was Prez’s orders. “You done eating yet?” I look over to Wylla Mae who has egg yolk dripping down her chin. “Ever heard of a napkin?” I shake my head and hand her mine. “Can you keep an eye on her for like ten minutes?”

  Pam rolls her eyes. “Ten minutes. That’s it, East. I mean it. You aren’t sticking me with your problems.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I wave her off. “I’ll be back.” I point at Wylla Mae and she shoots me a dirty look all pinched faced. “You better behave.”

  “Where are you going? I don’t want to stay with her. She doesn’t even like me.”

  “Neither do I,” I tell her gruffly and her face falls.

  Her bottom lip juts out into a pout.

  “Stop that. Shit doesn’t work on me.”

  Those big doe eyes gaze up at me filled with unshed tears threatening to breach the brims. “Do you truly not like me, East?”

  “Shit, kid. I was only kidding.”

  “You owe me another quarter.”

  I pull my wallet out of my back pocket. I thumb through the bills until I find the one I want. “Here.” I hand her a ten-dollar bill. “That should cover it.”

  She smiles big eyeing the money. “Oooh. Can you take me shopping?” Those tears faded away awful fast. She’s a damn natural. Bet her mother taught her how to get what she wants.

  “Shopping?” I grunt. “Hell no.”

  She pouts again, but I’m not falling for that shit.

  “I’ll be back. Listen to Pam and take your medicine.”

  Wylla Mae’s lips part, her pink tongue darting out between them directed at me. Fucking brat. I shove off my stool and go in search of Grudge.

  I find him outside tinkering with the driver’s side door of Pam’s car. It’s a four-door sedan that needs towed and turned into scrap metal. The bottom of the driver’s side door is rusting out. “Hey, man. You have a minute?”

  “Just trying to unlock this piece of shit car for Pam. Locked the damn keys in it. What’d you need?”

  “You still have that kid’s helmet you kept for Tempest?”

  “Should be in the garage. What you want with it?”

  “Fucking Murder gave me a babysitting detail. Got an eight-year-old by the name of Wylla Mae I’m charged with.”

  Grudge strokes his chin, running his fingers over his graying beard. “Wylla Mae you say. That’s Alexa’s girl. Blonde hair. Pretty little thing.” His weathered face brightens.

  “Smart mouth.”

  He chuckles. “Shit. Alexa always was bad news. Yeah you can use it.”

  “What’s your opinion about this Alexa?” I question, following him to the garage that sits behind the clubhouse.

  “She was always best friends with Prez’s daughter.”

  “Rochelle?” Her picture hangs in the clubhouse in the hallway by Prez’s office. Rochelle was a beautiful girl. Long light brown hair, big brown eyes. Freckles on the bridge of her nose. Bet I’ve looked at her photo a hundred times. Pass by it often enough. Such a shame a young life gone too soon.

  “Yeah. God rest her soul. Alexa was with her. In the car with her. Nearly killed her too but she walked away. Murder’s always had a soft spot for her, but girl was always wild and needing him to come rescue her. Has a habit of getting with losers who show their love with their fists. Has issues. They call it survivor’s guilt.”

  Fuck. “The kid ever get caught up in it?”

  “Once. Murder threatens her. Says if she don’t get her shit together, he’ll take Wylla Mae away from her, but he never follows through with it. He goes over there and plays hero every damn time. Says Rochelle would want him to.”

  I cup the back of my neck. Prez’s daughter died in high school. Got drunk and was driving too fast. That was before I lived around here. Grudge opens the garage and starts poking around in old boxes on one of the shelves against the back wall. “Eureka,” he shouts after a few minutes and produces a small black helmet with a pink skull on the back. “Should be about the right size.” He rubs an old rag over the top to get the dust off it.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “No problem. It don’t do nothing out here but collect dust now that Tempest is older and too cool to hang with grandpa.” He smiles but I can see this flash behind his smoky grey eyes that says he misses her.

  “Think she’d want a job babysitting?”

  He shakes his head. “It’s Saturday. She’s gone to her dad’s for the weekend. Won’t be home till tomorrow evening I’m afraid.”

  “It was worth a shot.”

  Grudge slaps my back. “Don’t worry. Alexa is a lot of things but she’s a good mom. She’ll be beating down your door for the kid soon enough.”

  “Good. I’ll get this back to you whenever I’m done w
ith it.”

  I take the helmet and head back to the clubhouse to grab the kid. The clubhouse is no place for her to be hanging around. I sit the helmet on the seat of my bike and when I walk inside Devil’s Playground I have to blink because I don’t believe what I’m seeing. Wylla Mae is sitting on top of the bar and Roane, the club’s tattooist and a prospect has hold of her arm.

  I stomp toward them my mood souring. I’m losing my goddamned mind. It looks like he’s putting a tattoo on her. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Look, East.” Wylla Mae snaps her head to me wearing a toothy grin and holds up her arm. “Roane gave me a tattoo of a sunflower.” Underneath the sunflower in cursive font is one word. Lady.

  Fucking hell.

  “Easy, man, it’s just a temp. It’ll wash off.”

  I let out a breath. “You.” I point at her. “Get down from there.” I turn back to Roane. “Where’s Pam?”

  “She’s um occupied. Link.” He chuckles. Link is Pam’s Ol’ Man. Link, Grudge, and Pam run the clubhouse better known as The Devil’s Playground.

  “Hell, I don’t even want to know. You got your backpack? Medicine?”

  “Yup. Do I get to ride on your motorcycle again?” Those warm brown eyes sparkle with hunger for adventure.

  “Got you a helmet.”

  “Cool.” She slides off the bar with help from Roane.

  “See you later alligator,” he says holding his fist out for her to bump.

  “After while crocodile,” she singsongs, skipping toward the exit, dragging her backpack on the floor.

  “Cute kid. She wouldn’t shut up about you. Just be careful.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “You’ve not been around in the past when Alexa starts her shit is all I’m saying. I was a few grades behind her in school. I know shit. Heard some things, but not my story to tell.”

  “Wait. You know the kid and her mom?”

  “You’ve got a lot to learn it seems.” He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s not my place to say shit. If Prez wants you to know he’ll tell you, but that kid, better protect her with your life. She’s important to Prez. Just file that away. Know what I mean?”

  I give him a chin lift, but no I don’t know what the fuck he means.

  “Come on, East,” Wylla Mae whines, trying to jerk the heavy door open.

  Roane shoots me a look that says, ‘don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  **

  “This is your house?” Wylla Mae spins around in the living room of my A-frame home.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you build it yourself?” She plops her pink backpack down on the black leather couch.

  “No.”

  “Did you buy it?”

  “No.”

  Her eyes go big. “Did you steal it?”

  “What? No. You can’t steal a house.”

  Her brows knit together. “Then how did you get it?”

  “It belonged to my father.”

  “Did he build it?”

  “No. I don’t know. You ask a lot of questions.”

  “Are you married? You don’t look married. I don’t see any stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?” I look around my cabin wondering what she was expecting.

  “You know. Girl stuff. Pretty pillows. Flowers. Candles that smell good.”

  “Maybe I don’t like that stuff.”

  “My mom likes girly stuff. When she feels happy, she lights candles and sprays stuff on the furniture to make it smell good. I bet she’d make this place look better.” She picks up a magazine and scrunches her nose as she gapes at the cover. “Ew.” She drops it as quickly as she found it and my jaw ticks.

  Shit. A Playboy. But in my defense, I wasn’t expecting to be on brat duty.

  “Stop being so damn nosy and put your medicine in the fridge.”

  “Do you have a Tv?” her gaze darts around the room.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I like to read.”

  “Read?”

  “Yeah. Books Maybe you need to try it.” I sigh and grab the bottle of pink liquid from her backpack.

  “I don’t see anything besides your nudie books.”

  “Nudie books?” I chuckle.

  “Maybe that’s why you don’t have a wife.”

  Fucking hell this kid. I put her antibiotic in the fridge then open up my junk drawer and find what I’m looking for. “Here.” I hand Wylla Mae the pad of paper and an ink pen.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Go draw or write a letter to your best friend or some shit. I don’t know.”

  “Do you have any games? I like games.”

  “No.”

  “I’m bored, East.”

  “Christ on a cracker.” I huff.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing. Just sit on the couch. I’ll be back.” I grab my cigarettes and lighter off the kitchen counter wishing it wasn’t too damn early to crack open a beer. I walk outside and suck in a breath. This kid is going to be the death of me. She never shuts up. All night last night she chattered till my damn ears felt like they were going numb from the sound of her voice. I passed out sometime around one in the morning on the couch. The Tv was still on and that damn motormouth was still rambling. Swear my hand to God I could hear her talking in my damn sleep.

  I take out a cigarette and light it up. I feel calmer the moment the familiar burn of smoke pulls through my lungs. I lean over the railing of the porch and stare out at the view of the river. The tranquil sound of the water moving against the bank usually settles my spirit. It’s going to be a long day and I already want a damn nap.

  Chapter 3

  Easton

  “I can’t thank you enough for keeping my Wylla Mae for me,” Alexa thanks me for the third time since she showed up on my doorstep twenty minutes ago to collect the kid.

  “No worries. We survived.”

  She bats her long thick lashes at me. “I hope she wasn’t too much trouble.”

  “Mom, East makes the best chicken in the whole world. You should make it for her for dinner sometime,” she prompts, staring at me.

  “Yeah, um sure. Whatever you want, Lil’ Lady.”

  “What’s this?” Alexa turns Wylla Mae’s wrist over inspecting the fading tattoo Roane gave her.

  “My tattoo. Isn’t it pretty? I’m going to get a real one as soon as I’m old enough.”

  Alexa smiles at her daughter. The woman is gorgeous, and I can see a lot of where Wylla Mae gets her features from. When she grows up, she will be one hell of a heartbreaker.

  “Let me treat you to dinner. My place. I won’t take no for an answer,” Alexa presses, gliding her manicured fingers up and down my forearm.

  “Please, East. Pretty please with cherries on top,” Wylla Mae starts in, giving me her signature pout.

  “Sure. Name the time. I’ll be there.” I’m a damn sucker.

  “Perfect,” Alexa purrs, leaning in close. “I’ll make you something special for the occasion. I’m betting you’re a beer man. I bet I can guess your label too.”

  I pull back slightly uncomfortable with the way her tits are rubbing up against me with her kid standing here watching. “No doubt.”

  “How’s tomorrow night work for you?”

  Both are staring at me now, putting me on the spot, but I find myself unable to say no to either of them. “Sounds good.”

  “It’s a date.” She shoots me this look with her eyes that tells me she plans on doing a lot more than feeding me. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you better, East.”

  I bet she is, and I’m enough of a bastard to let her.

  **

  This time when I pull up to Alexa’s house, I’m on my own and shit looks different. The garbage is gone from the yard. The grass is trimmed. There’s a welcome mat in front of the door. Before I can knock the door swings open and Wylla Mae is grabbing me by the hand. “I knew you’d come.” Those d
oe eyes melt into me, and I can’t help but grin when I see that damn sunflower is still on her wrist. She’s wearing jeans and a purple tee with a mermaid on it.

  Damn brat is growing on me.

  “Mom made roast. She said men love meat and potatoes.”

  “Your mom is right.”

  “I wanted mine diced, but she said no and made me mash them. How do you like your potatoes?”

  “Cooked,” I answer as she tugs me through the door. She laughs. “I see that snot nose cleared up.” That earns me a scowl.

  “Hey, you. So glad you made it.” Alexa walks out of the kitchen, and I get the sense I am in a different house than the one I was in Friday. It smells like cinnamon and vanilla. Looks clean. Like a home should. Not that I got that much of a look the last time I was here other than the nasty kitchen.

  “Thanks for having me. I can’t turn down a home cooked meal from two beautiful ladies, now can I?”

  “I would’ve been offended if you were a no show. No woman takes lightly to be stood up.” Her medium length dirty blonde hair hangs smooth and stick straight down her back. In a barely there denim skirt with stones and beads around the pockets, her legs are lean and tan. Long enough to wrap around a man. A black Harley Davidson tank top shows off her midriff and the black lace of her bra is playing peekaboo with the deep scoop neck. Alexa is fucking hot. If the kid wasn’t here, I have no doubt in my mind that we’d be skipping dinner and going right to dessert. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Starved.” I lick my lips, my mouth watering at the smell of the roast wafting from the kitchen.

  “All right. Sweetpea, you go wash up. East and I won’t start without you.”

  Wylla Mae darts up the stairs.

  “Shall we?”

  “Right.” We move into the kitchen and it’s clean. I gotta admit I was worried about Wylla Mae having food when I watched them pull out of my driveway, but I put in a call to Prez and he said he took care of shit. The counter has a bowl of fresh fruit on it and there’s a spread on the center of the kitchen table. Rolls, roast, and veggies. Mac and cheese too.

  I observe Alexa as she pours a glass of milk for her daughter, handing me a bottle of Budweiser next. “You’re good.” I pop the cap off and take a hard pull.