Commotion in the other room wakes me. My eyes are crusty from crying and swollen. Using my hands, I push myself up onto my elbows and try and look through the bedroom door, but I can’t see anyone.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

Scooting to the side of the bed, I grab an ashtray off the nightstand and waddle to the doorway. There are condiments out of the fridge sitting on the counter, but I still don’t see anyone. Well, if they’re making something to eat they obviously aren’t here to hurt me.

I take a step out, my eyes bouncing all over the room for who might be in here with me. Maybe it’s Jillian again.

“You want one?”

I scream, swinging the ashtray behind me. It thumping as I make contact with the intruder.

“Fucking hell!” A man bends over, grabbing his forehead where I hit him. Gasping, I take a few steps back and drop the ashtray to the floor.

Hissing, he stands up. His blondish colored hair falls in his eyes, intricate tattoos swirl along his arms, and that jaw of his could cut glass.

“You crazy ass bitch!” My eyebrows draw inward at his tone of voice. Our eyes lock for a few seconds before slowly trailing up and down one another. His eyes are the lightest brown I’ve ever seen with a hint of green mixed within. Like a sturdy tree standing in an emerald forest.

He’s taller than me, skin tanned, and holds a softness to his face, but there’s a sharp edge there too. It’s as if Kane and Gatz were mixed into one and made this man.

He glares, pulling his hand away from the bump forming on his forehead.

“Are you insane? My water could have broken sneaking up on me like that!” Instinctively, I place my palm on my belly. “Who are you? What are you doing in here?”

Ignoring my questions, he walks back to the counter where the lettuce and bread were left out.

“My name is Mac, and I’m the fucking babysitter.” His eyes slowly rise to mine, a chiseled smile crossing his smug face as he lifts his chin with more confidence than I can handle looking directly at.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I sass.

“I’m here for that, not you.” He points to my pregnant belly, his silver chain-looking bracelet sliding around his wrist. I shift on my back foot, and sigh. Over the past few months, death has not scared me but losing my child has. For Gatz’s club to be here and help protect a fetus that might not even be their own. That stands for something.

“My name is Simone—”

“I know who you are. The chick that got pregnant by two men, from two different clubs.” The coldness in his voice drips like ice. “Are you a biker hopper?” His tone casual as if we’re discussing a movie we just saw.

“A what?” I snap, not familiar with the terminology.

“You know, like a mattress hopper, only you’re jumping from biker dick to biker dick.” He waves around a mayonnaise covered butter knife.

My jaw drops. “That’s not who I am—”

“Are you a prostitute or something then?” His tone serious. My face burns with anger, and the urge to hit him in the head with the ashtray again flares.

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”

He smirks, and I can tell I’m in deep shit with this guy. This is not just any brooding biker, this is a man who plays with women’s heads before leaving you shredded and confused. The lipstick on his shirt a hint that he’s also a player.

He steps around the counter, his breath smelling of beer and weed. He towers over me a good foot, making me have to glare up at him.

“Easy, Pocahontas, I’ll treat you like a princess for a few minutes after I let you ride my cock. I won’t even judge you for liking it.” He waggles his brows, and I shove him.

“I’m not a biker hopper!” I purse my lips.

His eyes blaze of burnt green irises, and his shoulders rise. Skimming me up and down, a wolfish smile fits his smug face. He’s playing with me and enjoying the rise he’s getting.

“Cut the shit, I know what your kind is and I’m not a toy.”

“My kind?” His head tilts to the side with curiosity.

“Biker.” My lips curl with the word. “I’ve grown up working the field of outlaws, and I’ve seen how you guys live. If you think for one second you can play me like one of your club bitches… you’re wrong.”

Lifting his hand, he rubs his chin.

“Maybe I was wrong about you,” he says, his voice grave. I give a curt nod, proud of myself for taking charge of the situation. Seems I haven’t lost my touch after all. “You’re fucking stupid if you think for one second that I care about you, you’re wrong. I’ll cut that child from your fucking womb, and hand you over to the very people you’re running from, Pocahontas.”

My eyes widen, a lump forming in the back of my throat. I’ve never had anyone talk to me like this before.

“But you already knew that, right? Knowing my kind and all?”

Taking a step back, we stare into each other’s eyes, the room silent as we challenge one another.

An arrogant laugh vibrates his body, his back turned toward me, he heads to his room which is on the other side of the suite.

He shuts the door, and I pull at my hair in frustration.

Fucking Pocahontas, screw him.

Lying in bed, I pull my cigarettes out of my pocket and light one up. Blowing smoke into the room, I think about Simone. She’s feisty for being pregnant and at our mercy.

I take another drag.

I thought I’d come in here to an annoying chick down for some kink, I mean, she did fuck two guys and get knocked up.

She insulted my kind. What bullshit.

Sure, she wasn’t wrong. Bikers have been known to be ruthless and a little horny, but there’s another side to us too. Just very few get to see that.

I glance at the door, she may not see that side of anyone if she continues to keep her walls to her bitch fort up. Nobody has seen mine, and I intend on keeping it that way.

Grabbing my iPod from my bag, I shove the earbuds in my ears and listen to “Hail to The King” By Avenged Sevenfold. Closing my eyes, I fall asleep. It’s been a long fucking day.

* * *

Weight on my chest and a piercing sting to my neck wakes me from a deep sleep. My eyes snap open with Simone straddling my body, her swollen belly sitting on my chest, with a knife pressed to my neck

“Who is the stupid one now, sleeping with your back turned?” she criticizes, fire and pain dancing in her eyes. Fisting her hips, I throw her onto her back, my arm whipping out from under my pillow, I press my gun to her head.

“I stand by my statement, only a stupid bitch would come in here thinking I wouldn’t expect it.”

She doesn’t respond, her chest rising and falling. Opening her mouth, she closes it thinking better not to speak. Smart considering there’s a gun to her head.

“Say it,” I press on, wanting to hear what she has to say.

“I am not a whore. I was a virgin before I got pregnant!” Her voice cracks with emotion, her sad eyes tugging at the armor I wear from day to day.

Using the barrel of my gun, I push the hair from her round face wanting to see all of her sadness. She’s so beautiful. Her misplaced strength breathtaking, and the weight of her sins sewn into her shoulders like a pair of dark wings.

“You don’t have to fight anymore,” I whisper, my softness taking me aback. Her throat bobs as she swallows my words. Why I feel the need to say that, I don’t know. I can just tell this woman has been fighting fear with fear for far too long. Lifting my fist away from the mattress, allowing her to get up, I place the gun in my waistband.

Shifting off the bed, she stands. She’s wearing a t-shirt that tickles the tops of her thighs, her dark green panties contrasting amongst her dark skin. Even with a pregnant belly, she’s a fucking looker. The pressing of my dick in my pants agreeing.

Her eyes glance over her shoulder at me, and I see confusion and courage battling on what to think of me. She doesn’t know whether to like me or hate me.

“Simone.” I overstepped my boundaries telling her she was safe. “Simone!” She keeps walking, ignoring me. Jumping from the bed, I grab her by the shoulder, but she shakes me off.

“Goddamn it, stop for a second!” I demand. I need to clear the air, be mean to her or something.

“Why? We’re not friends, you made that clear. So… don’t be nice to me.” Her voice cracks with emotion, and I feel like an ass. I can’t force myself to be a dick to her. Why? Because she’s pregnant?

Giving me a once-over, she walks across the suite back to her room, slamming the door.

“Bitch!” I growl under my breath, slamming my own door. This is why I’d rather talk to computers than a woman. They’re fucking complicated!